On Request
by Iffy Jr
Summary: MULTIPLE PAIRINGS. "4 forced into it, 4 to help them through it, 40 to keep them in it, and 400 to get them out of it. Maybe life's not fair, but all IS fair in love and war, and this is both." COMPLETE. Yay super crappy summary. That's literally all I could come up with. Just read the beginning notes to get a better understanding I think I did good I swear! :P
1. Part I, Branch I

Author's notes (long woops idek why I warn you guys anymore I mean geez _all_ my authors notes are long): Right so, another Avengers fic! :) Its 172 pages and just shy of 92,000 words. It's a multiple pairing story (in which there are four main ones that I'll write out in a bit) and therefore multiple points of view, switching back between those eight different characters and even a few extras every now and again, making 10 different points of view that I have made sure are _clearly_ labeled! Also it's an AU, which most of you know very well my love for XD It's set in the year 3013 (woo future), and just sort of picture a Star Wars world, in which there are all sorts of different species and the entire world is well aware of that. There's not really tons of planets or system or anything, but they do talk about "in all the universe" instead of "all the world" or whatever.

Anyhoo, here's some character summarization, that's more like an entire explanation than a summarization whoops. Four of our eight main characters are strippers at this club, and the four other characters just show up a few nights because, hey, who doesn't like strip clubs? (And it's not _just_ a strip club, that's just the easiest way to explain it. I'll explain it better in the actual story.) And like most stripper fics I've read are usually humor fics or whatever, but this one's totally not. Sure, it's full of sex and shit, but it's all _over_ the place in serious. It's got some fluff in it too, but I made it romance/hurt/comfort for a reason! Anyway read the warnings/not warnings for more details on that all :)

Okay so none of the characters are OOC or anything, I just wanna explain a few things, because I take their personalities from different…points? Whatever just read: Loki, Tony, and Bruce are pretty much exactly how they were in Thor/Iron Man/the Avengers (I picture Mark Ruffalo as my Brucey-kins, sorry for all you Incredible Hulk fans out there), but the others have some shit goin' down.

Phil is (not dead since it's an AU yay) still his badass Men in Black suit man, but I've always pictured him super shy around somebody he really wants to impress or has a crush on (cough Steve cough). He's really good at his job and the like, but I feel like his home life would be…completely different.  
Thor is not a total klutz who falls for Loki's tricks and gets himself locked up, but he's a businessman in the story and is therefore rather sophisticated and knows what he's doing. So I suppose he could be considered OOC, but…I don't know I just don't think that's the right way of explaining him. Whatever, worst case you read it and think he is.  
Steve is still the sweet little ball of freedom, but he's also one of the strippers and is therefore a bloody good flirt. He's also a hell of a lot more indrawn on himself than he thought, but that doesn't come into play until later.  
Natasha and Clint are both how I'd picture them if they weren't super spies/assassins in SHIELD. Natasha is lively and humorous and not sleeping with knives in her hands and guns under her pillows because she doesn't really have anything to fear now that it's an AU, so this is what I picture her personality if she could just be the twenty-whatever women she wants. Clint is cute, animated, bright, optimistic about everything, and is always looking for the most dangerous thing around. Basically he's a total dork. Also I know that Clint is supposed to be, like, 6'3" in the comics, and Jeremy Renner is 5'10" or something, but in this fic we're pretending that he's shorter than Bruce, okay? That also means shorter than Tony (if we're going by actor heights). So pretty much the only person he's taller than in this fic is Natasha. Haha, whatever. Also, I just watched Dahmer (a 2002 film starring Jeremy Renner about a serial killer) soo now I've shoved in some SerialKiller!Clint, which is an important part of the fic but not in such a way that it really ruins anything if I'm just telling you now. You don't know the details anyway :P

Oh also about Loki: in the original Norse myths he's sometimes known as the God of Fire, so I've incorporated that into the story as well. And some of their pasts I totally made up as well, being Loki's, Natasha's, and Clint's. Steve's is made up too but it's close enough to canon I suppose it doesn't matter.

Aaalso, the Chitauri are a huge part of this story, meaning the leader dude is going to be mentioned a lot. I know how he looks in the Avengers movie, but there's a few fanarts on Deviantart that I've been using as my reference instead:

Link 1: _old good chitauri_ by _kuakugava_  
Link 2: _Loki do not want to hug today_ by _kuakugava_

So yeah with that. One more thing: the times in the future are in military time. I'm pretty sure most people know it, but for those of you who don't know…well, good luck XD Oh oh also any word that's definitely not English will be explained at the end of each chapter if it's a new one. It'll make sense I swear.

Enjoy! :)

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**Disclaimer**: None of the characters in this story are mine. They strictly belong to Marvel and whoever else has helped create the characters.

**Summary**: Multiple pairings. "4 forced into it, 4 to help them through it, 40 to keep them in it, and 400 to get them out of it. Maybe life's not fair, but all IS fair in love and war, and this is both." COMPLETE. Yay super crappy summary. That's literally all I could come up with. Whoops. Anyway just read the beginning notes for a better understanding of what goes down :)

**Pairings**: (Main) Steve/Phil, Thor/Loki, Bruce/Clint, Tony/Natasha; (Minor) Previous Clint/Natasha; platonic Loki/Clint; platonic Steve/Natasha; mentioned Laufey/Farbauti  
**Rating**: Mature/Explicit  
**Warning/Not-warnings**: strong language; m/m and m/f parings; romance, angst, hurt/comfort; violence, abuse, bondage, piercings; strippers, dancers; explicit intimacy; "sex slave"; blah blah blah things like that (PS I'll be using a few paraphelia's in here and totally don't feel like explaining them so I suggest having internet handy to look them up if need be!)

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**Part I: The First Night**

**Part I, Branch I: Meet the Numbers**

_PHIL  
Time: 20:45…_

"I just…don't know if we should, you know?" Bruce says quietly. "It doesn't seem right."

"Neither am I, Bruce ole boy," Tony says, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "But, as my species say in every language ever, _just do it_."

Phil rolls his eyes. "Your species is so damn arrogant." Tony Stark is a Jezik, in which he's "programmed" to be able to speak, understand, read, and write in every language known to man: those that were previously not discovered before they showed up, and those that are long gone dead.

"At least _I_ have both my eyes."

Phil is technically completely human but for the fact that he's a bit of a cyborg (Tony likes to call him an office drone). It's just his left eye, left arm from the shoulder to his hand, and his spinal cord. His arm is even kept hidden with a spray matched to his skin tone. The eye isn't as easy to hide thanks to the fact that it's metal, but at least the eye scanner is black instead of a creepy red. He can also speak Arabic, Greek, French, and Italian. Nobody even finds speaking English "cool" anymore, if it's not your native language. _Everyone_ can speak English, either by learning it on their own or getting a chip that allows them to.

Phil would love to make a wisecrack about Tony's _own_ robotic implant: a circle in his chest to keep his heart safe. He wasn't the _smartest_ kid ever and nearly got himself killed a few times, the metal heart being a time he took metal shrapnel to multiple places in his body. He managed to create something that would keep him alive and here he is now, a mini arc reactor in his chest. Phil honestly doesn't even know what an arc reactor _is_ except that there's one sitting doing nothing in Tony's big ugly building in the middle of New York.

Thor grabs both of them with his giant arms, pulling them close with a huge smile. "Let us not argue, my brethren! I have heard wonderful things about this place and would like to continue inside." Thor is…large. He's Norse, which is considered the rarest of all languages to speak (Jezik's don't ever count in the language census, though their species is generally rare in the first place). The big blonde can speak Norse and Russian, which is the rarest and then not so rare. He's a Mapagparaya, which means that he's _very_ hard to kill or even injure because his body has such a high tolerance level. Being hit by a car would only send him flying; maybe scratch him up in a few places, but nothing more.

"Well we can't go in without Bruce!" Tony whines.

Bruce sighs, dropping the hand that was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright, I'll go." He pushes past them all to go down the stairs to the front door—even Thor, which would usually be impossible if not for the fact that Bruce is a Pyktis Pabaisa. "Rage Monsters" can be very dangerous, but Phil has never met a calmer one in his life. Many of his kind don't really care if they "hulk out" and hurt whoever's around them, but Bruce Banner _tries_. He's managed to evade the SDS (Species Detection Society) for years now, just passing off as human. There are no scans that can detect their species when he's in his human form, so it's rather easy. He speaks Croatian, Filipino, and Lithuanian—the fact that he knows all three, though, is kept a secret from the language census as well, because knowing all three of them are practically a beacon to telling them what he really is. Rage Monster's, when hulked out, can also be any color on the spectrum (scientists have tried to figure out if the colors mean anything, but so far they haven't come up with anything, and Bruce himself insists that they don't anyway). Bruce is green.

Tony whoops and goes down after him, followed by a grinning Thor. Phil sighs and goes down a bit slower, not really sure if he wants to be here either—but, Thor is right, there _have_ been wonderful things said about this place. It's some place called _The Skrull_, run by a stinking, dirty, low lying race known as the Chitauri. Nobody really likes them, but their species runs the _best_ clubs and bars and especially the best stripper club/bar/comedy you _ever_ did hear of. That's what the Skrull is. Strippers, dancers (including private), prostitutes, alcohol, music, sex, and even a Comedy Night. It's not really Phil's thing, and _certainly_ not Bruce's, but its one-hundred and twelve percent Tony's and about ninety-eight percent Thor's, so they've been dragged along anyway.

There's a bouncer at the bottom (one of the Chitauri, of course) who gives a sort of growl at the four of them before they can go in.

Tony grins and sidles right up to him, giving a sort of tongue roll back.

The creature gives a sort of humming noise before stepping aside, pushing the door open for them.

Tony clicks his tongue at him before motioning for Phil, Bruce, and Thor to follow, who all give the Chitauri an awkward smile as they shuffle after their best linguist. It's smoky walking down the hallway, but as soon as they enter the main part of the club it's clear and colorful. It's not Comedy Night, so there's not much of a humorous air as of now, but Tony promised to drag them back tomorrow so they could see that. Comedy night is a Thursday.

There are women and men dancing on the front stage (a very large stage, Phil notices) alike, which is normal considering that it's the year 3013. A thousand years ago the world was still fighting for the right to love those of the same sex, which is _stupid_. Then again, a thousand years ago everyone thought that only humans existed, so that might have been a contributing factor. Now it's uncommon for someone to _only_ like the opposite sex, because most people have the mindset in which "if I like you I like you, I don't care what gender you are". If someone likes only the opposite or same sex they're not shunned for it or anything, it's just not as common.

Tony and Thor are common in which they're not picky at all, Phil's not picky but he'd rather have a man, and Bruce just downright isn't attracted to women. They've got quite the group, really. Tony is their "leader", the smartass billionaire who can charm the pants off of even a Chitauri that doesn't wear pants, and is _brilliant_. He owns Stark Industries, which specifies in both weapons and nearly _any_ other form of electronics—he's actually the specific one that designed, created, _and_ installed the three parts to Phil's cyborg body. His company is one of the top five in the entire world, and he's smart enough not to do hardly any of the work. He used to do it, but he mostly just forgot about it all the time, so he got in trouble with the board a lot. He finally placed his secretary, Pepper Potts, in on the job, so now she runs everything and only comes in every once in a while to have him sign things. She and Tony dated once, but they broke up and she got together with Happy Hogan, Tony's chauffer.

Thor is next because he's a businessman just like Tony, though not quite as well known. He owns the biggest construction/architectural company in America, and he's just as smart as Tony in which he lets most of the other people do all of his work. His own hired help is Jane Foster, a friend he met _long_ before meeting any of Phil, Tony, or Bruce. He's not as smart as Tony, nor is he as charming, but he's got the perfect brain to be a great businessman and just enough smile to get into someplace if he truly needs to. He's also very large and can be very intimidating, so getting what he truly wants is never all that difficult. Even in his high ranking, though, most people tend to steer clear of him even if he _is_ in a well tailored suit. His hair is blonde, but instead of keeping it short like most people he wears it long and flowing out around him like some sort of sun god (there's the occasional ponytail, but it's rare). He also is not a huge fan of speaking in English, so he tends to speak like most people way back in the Dark Ages. He joined up with their group because Tony met him at a bar, they got drunk together, ended up in bed together, and they've been friends every since. Friends with benefits, they say, and Phil's never in his life seen one of those that actually works. Usually one of the friends becomes emotionally attached and it's ruined, but Tony's so truly emotionally detached with _everything_ (thanks to the upbringing concerning his father) that'd it'd be impossible for him, and Thor's so open and happy about life that he'll probably never even fall in love with anyone in the first place because he'd fall in love with _everyone_.

Phil comes next because he works for a worldwide police force known as SHIELD (that has been partnered with Stark Industries for years to use his weapons and the like to capture rogues, take out problems, and many other things), and his being partly cyborg puts him out of normal right away. There are very few of them around, so many are actually rather frightened of him even though nothing but his eye is actually visible since he covers his arm with a spray paint to match his skin tone and spine's aren't visible anyway. Contrary to popular belief, he does _not_ use his eye scanner to see under peoples clothing. It can't even do that.

Bruce is last (though not by much), and he's a scientist, passing off as one that's researching his species instead of actually _being_ his species. He's found out that some like him aren't even born that way, but that it's due to large or even small quantities of gamma radiation exposure that tend to simply _change_ them. Considering the two nuclear wars that have been had in the last thousand years there _are_ places that have very high radiation, but it usually doesn't matter because there are now cures and shots to make sure it doesn't affect you. Some who get the shots, though, are still affected because their bodies have rejected the antidote, which is _very_ rare, but it still happens nonetheless. He's currently trying to find another shot type that can be given to those whose bodies reject the gamma radiation antidote.

So they're the group with the smartass billionaire, the happily oblivious blonde billionaire, the office drone, and the scientist. Phil's not really sure how they all manage to get along anymore, to be honest. Tony met Phil and Bruce through separate works, he invited them both out to drinks, and later on he met Thor. They've just sort of…stuck.

"Tis not as busy as I heard it would be," Thor says, fists on his hips as he looks around.

"That's 'cause you're early, toots," a voice says behind them.

The four of them turn to see a tall, muscley, blonde bloke (not as tall or muscle as Thor, but a bit blonder, and with _much_ shorter hair) dressed in nothing but red, white, and blue. It's a sort of spangly star outfit, obviously meant to signify America. That's where they are, so why not? His tray looks more like a shield, and Phil has _no_ idea how he's balancing his drinks on that surface.

"Early?" Tony asks, stepping forward and sizing him up. "For what?"

"The show, of course," he says, setting his tray down onto a table (wow, that must be balanced _perfectly_ to not be twisting over at all…). "You four are new, that's alright. The beginning of every night is hit off by five songs sung by us girls."

Phil cocks an eyebrow, but Bruce speaks before he can: "There is no way you're a girl."

The man laughs, and suddenly Phil just…melts. This one. This is the one he wants tonight. Can he do that? It looks like he's just a waiter… But that _outfit_. He couldn't just be a waiter.

"It's an old fashioned term," he says, pulling a little notebook and fuzzy firework themed pen out of his tiny little apron. "'The girls' is how we refer to all of us who work here. Those of us who work in the shows, dance between times, wait on patrons, and…" He gives a warm grin. "Do any _private_ dances."

Bruce blushes, Phil is trained enough that his face stays emotionless, Thor's stupid smile doesn't change anyway, and Tony matches his grin.

Phil needs to know if he's just a waiter, or if he does any of those _private dancers_. "Do you just wait on people for fun, then?" he asks tonelessly.

The blonde gives an offhanded shrug. "I'm good with people and I don't have anyone lined up for a private…dance."

Thor tilts his head slightly. "You are on a schedule?"

He grins. "I'm on request only. I'm that good. There are four of us on nothing but request when it comes to private dances. Two of the others will be on the stage for the beginning show, if you stay. I'm sure they and everyone else would be…" His eyes flicker across the faces of Tony, Thor, and Bruce before settling on Phil's. "Happy to have you." His eyes drag up and down his body.

Phil still manages to keep a completely straight face even with the before and after eye contact, though he has no idea what is one normal eye is doing. Darkening with lust, most likely. It doesn't take much to turn him on, to be honest. Probably because he's been so sexually void lately that his body wants _anything_.

"Got a name?" Tony says, throwing out his charm.

The blonde pulls his eyes slowly away from Phil's and smiles down at Tony. "It's Captain America 'round here, but y'all can call be Cap. Number eighteen, at your service." He holds up his pen. "Can I get you boys anything to drink?"

Phil has no idea what the eighteen was significant for, but it doesn't really matter. The four of them order a drink, Cap recommending a margarita because he's been told he makes mean ones. Phil and Bruce order one, but Tony orders wine and Thor gets a huge thing of ale. Cap tells them to go find a seat by the stage since they're here early so they can have front row when it starts (apparently most people don't get here until just a few minutes before the show starts), and he'll bring them their drinks when they're ready.

Their table is specifically for four, in which Bruce and Phil are on the sides and Tony and Thor are on the side in which they can face the stage.

"Good thing we came early," Tony says, pulling out his phone. Eight-hundred years ago he wouldn't be able to get reception since they're underground, but there's nowhere in the world you can't get it now. "Front row seats are the best."

Cap swings by a moment later to give them their drinks, standing on the side across from Tony and Thor, and then seeming to linger until Phil and Bruce try the margaritas. Phil may be good at keeping his emotions to himself, but he's not an asshole, so he lets his smile show through at the fact that, yeah, the drink really is good.

"Wow, you really meant it," Bruce says before Phil can say anything on his own.

Cap nods, spinning his shield/tray around a few times before flipping it behind him and hooking it somehow onto his back. He's shirtless, for the most part, but for a sort of crisscross thing that must go around to the back as well. That's probably how it works. "And I can tell from _your_ smile," he says, tapping Phil's lips, "that you liked it too."

Phil's smile instantly disappears into a passive line. "It's good," he says.

Cap gives the cutest eye roll. "No need to hide your emotions, babe," he says with a warm smile. "I've seen _all_ the types that have come in here, and you're no different."

Phil is about to feel offended, not that he should, since it's true, that "the girls" have seen it all and they don't get attached…but then Cap adds:

"Well, maybe I haven't seen an eye like _that_"—he taps right on the outer side of Phil's cyborg eye—"around." He grins, stands up straighter, and saunters off, flipping off his shield and going over to another table to take some orders.

"Oooh," Tony says, elbowing him a bit. "Somebody liiiikes you!"

Phil turns to Tony and wrinkles his nose up. "It's his _job_."

"I do believe Anthony is correct, Phillip," Thor says, taking a swig of his ale. "If it were only his job he would have been flirting with us all, but he seemed to be solely focused on you."

Phil shakes his head. "It's a clever trick. Signal out one and hope it works."

Bruce grins at him. "I can tell you have a hard-on from here, Phil. Shut up."

Phil frowns at him. "Even you?"

He nods, taking a drink of his margarita. "Even me."

"Also he slipped you a piece of paper," Tony says, pointing at the breast pocket of his suit.

Phil frowns, looking down at it. "How did I miss that?"

"It's the hard-on," Bruce says. "You were distracted because you're sexually deprived."

"By my own choice, thank you very much."

"Whatever, read the damn paper," Tony says, shoving at his shoulder.

Phil rolls his eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling it out—making _sure_ that nobody else can see what's on it until he's had a good and proper look at it on his own. It looks like it was ripped out of his order notebook, and the words written on it are in the same font and color (it's color changing ink, from blue to red) as Steve's writing from when Phil noticed when he was taking their orders in the first place. It reads:

_Meet me at the bar?  
—Cap_

Even with those three letters his signature is frilly and colorful.

"Like I said," Phil shrugs, shoving it back into his pocket. "Just a way to make money. He gave him his call number."

Bruce rolls his eyes, Thor gives an exasperated sigh, and Tony groans loudly. "No fuuun," he whines.

"It's a strip club," Phil says, standing up. "What did you expect? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go see if they sell cigarettes. You guys want one?"

His three friends all talk at once:

"Cigar!" Tony says loudly.

"Mayhaps you could get me a cigar?" Thor asks politely.

"I'm good," Bruce says.

Phil nods. "Two cigars and a cigarette. Got it." He pulls out the note on the way up, ripping it up four times before throwing it into the nearest trashcan. The bar is more crowded than anywhere else since the show hasn't started yet, though Phil does notice a lot more of "the girls" walking around. A couple of them (both female) even already made it over to Tony, Thor, and Bruce, no doubt impressed by Stark's charm. Maybe they _think_ they've seen it all, but no, they haven't.

"Uh, I was wondering if smoking was permitted in here?" he asks one of the women behind the counter. She and a few of the others are dressed up as superheroes/villains, herself being Batgirl. Robin's a little ways down, plus the Joker, Poison Ivy, and a few others.

She gives him sad, pouty look. "Sorry, baby, but we don't allow it 'round here. Some fella's like to wreak some havoc with the fire and smoke it creates."

Phil nods. "Alright, thanks anyway."

"No problem, hun. Need anything else? Any drinks or show times?"

"No thanks, just the question."

She smiles. "Glad I could help, then."

Phil nods and turns around, taking a seat at one of the spinning bar ones and scouting around for the bathroom. Maybe homophobic is a word long dead and "no reception" doesn't exist, but people definitely still pee in the thirty-first century.

"Oh _there_ you are."

Phil snaps his head over to the voice, seeing that Cap is suddenly beside him, shield/tray on his back. "Uh, hey," he manages to get out _and_ have it completely normal. "I, uh, got your note."

He smirks, crossing his arms. The crisscrosses over his chest are blue with white stars on them, and he's wearing white gloves just shy of passing his elbows. He's also in what Phil can only describe as a skirt (but it's not, it's…manlier than that. Maybe he'll get Tony to help him brush up on his male stripper outfit knowledge), with red and white vertical stripes. His boots are somehow in a spot between white and silver, stopping just shy of his knees.

"And?"

Phil opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, "And Tony and Thor will be very disappointed that we're not allowed to smoke down here."

Cap laughs, leaning against the counter beside him. "What's your name?"

"Phil," Phil says, not even thinking about giving a fake one until it's already out.

"Well then, Phil. What are you doing here? You're obviously not here on your own accord."

Phil shrugs, wishing he had brought his drink. "A couple of my friends dragged me along."

He smirks. "Let me guess. Smartass in the sunglasses and the big fellow with wavy blonde locks?"

Phil snorts. "Yeah, but mostly just the smartass in sunglasses. I shouldn't even be in here. I don't belong. He can just be very…persuasive…sometimes. I don't even know why we're still friends."

Cap leans down against the counter until he's as short as Phil. "Want to know something?" he asks.

Phil looks over at him. "What?"

"Even if you don't belong here, I'm glad you came."

Phil has the decency to blush. "Um, thank you."

He cocks his head to the side a little. "Know what else I think?"

Phil _really_ wants his drink. "What?"

"I think that you're not lookin' for a dance, but a nice little romance. To be honest with yuh, you came to the wrong place. We're not even allowed to get emotionally attached to our clients unless it brings in more money."

Phil laughs, averting his eyes. "I assumed so, really. Even if you're glad I'm here, I'd really rather not be. It's…not really my type of place."

"And what _is_ your type of place?"

Phil sighs. "My office."

Cap laughs, standing up straight again. "Let me guess. Early to bed, early to rise, and early to fame?"

"I've never heard the fame part before, but it works."

He smirks. "It's just supposed to mean that, the more you work, the more successful you'll be."

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I work all the time and I don't seem to be going anywhere."

Phil frowns. "Tryin' to get out?"

He nods. "But don't tell anyone," he says with a wink. "The Other wouldn't like it."

"The…what?"

"Oh, that's our boss. None of us know his real name, so we just call him the Other. Anyway…" He gives a warm smile. "What's say I work those daytime kinks of yours out? I'd say you look tense, but it seems a little old-fashioned."

Phil swallows. There's a very large number of things he wants to say, about Cap's bare chest and those strong legs and oh gods even in that skirt-thing that _ass_… But instead all he says is, "Maybe the world needs a little old-fashioned."

Cap gives a warm smile. "I bet you want to know a third thing."

Phil nods.

"My name's not really Captain America."

Phil laughs. "I never would have guessed," he jokes. "Are you allowed to tell me what it really is?"

"No, but just for confidentially purposes" he says, shaking his head. "Everyone sort of does it anyway. I've been really good about it, though, so…" He leans down to his ear, cupping his hands around it and his mouth. "If you're really quiet about it out here, you can call me Steve if you like." He leans back up.

Phil looks up at him, blinking a couple of times. "That's my favorite name. Well, with an 'N' on the end, but close enough."

Steve smirks. "How convenient. The one I told you is just a shortened version of what I really am."

Phil laughs, slowly deciding he's alright without his drink. "How lovely."

"So, have you thought about what I said?"

"About the private dance?" He shrugs. "Obviously I've _thought_ about it"—(and he still is, which has been and still is making it very difficult to hold a straight conversation)—"I'm just not sure if I…you know, want to."

Steve gives the same laugh that he gave when Phil and his friends very first walked in, when Phil decided that this was the one he wanted. "Yes you do, toots. I saw your face when you walked in. Just because you can fool everybody else around you doesn't mean you can fool anybody here. We're _trained_ for this, and even if we're not we train ourselves on accident just by staying."

Phil blushes again, averting his eyes. "Oh."

Steve leans closer to him, only a mere two inches away. "So what'dyuh say?" he whispers into his ear. It's _far_ more seductive than the whispering from before. "I've got my own room and everything. Nobody else gets to use it. Remember, I'm that good. You just…watch the first song…and then you sneak away to the first wall you see. I'll find you."

Phil suppresses a shudder.

"I saw that."

He can't help but laugh, turning to look up at the blonde. He doesn't care if his heart is beating at the speed of light or how dark his eyes are or if it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep his breathing even. "You _are_ good."

Steve grins. "I know." He stands up straight. "I'll find you." And he's off, going to wait on some more tables. It's beginning to fill up a lot more. The show must be starting soon.

Phil goes back to the table, the two earlier girls gone but now occupied by two different women and a man.

"Ooh, you've got _another_ friend?" one of the women asks, smacking her lips. He's sure it's attractive to most people, but he can't really think about anyone else but Steve right now.

"Taken," he says absentmindedly to her, finally sipping more of his drink. "Sorry, guys, but we're not allowed to smoke down here."

"Aw, no fun," Tony whines, arm around one of the women.

"It is alright, Phillip," Thor says with a nod, both hands around his ale, but the other woman has both arms around his neck. "You tried. Did you by chance spot the restroom?"

Phil suppresses his laughter. "No, I missed it."

Bruce is blushing and stuttering a lot to the bloke beside him, but whoever he is honestly looks like he's having the time of his life. Phil would probably love the shy ones, too. Anyone cocky would just bother him, especially if they weren't actually as fun as they acted. But if somebody like Bruce came to him? Well, he'd throw his arms out and yell, "You have no idea what you're doing and I _love_ it! Come, come, let me show you the way of my people." And if he let Bruce dominate and he let out a painful little moan and Bruce stopped and asked if he had hurt him he'd sing, "Yes, YES, and I love it, you sweet thing you." And it'd be awkward but it'd be perfect, because the shy ones are always the cutest—or the serial killers, but that's alright too.

**OoOoOoO**

_TONY  
21:28…_

Tony likes clubs. He also likes bars, comedy, and strippers. So the fact that he found a place that's all in one? Well, he couldn't ask for more. Phil's being a bit of a party pooper, but Tony can live with that. It's his own fault if he's not having any fun. At least Bruce is managing to talk to the hot stud sidled up to him right now. Bruce is a great guy, he's just…shy.

The three "girls" that were hanging out with Tony, Bruce, and Thor while Phil was asking about smoking (he sure was gone a long time just for that…) head off a few minutes later, saying something about the show staring.

It does, the lights dimming except for a single spotlight pointing to the very back and middle of the stage. A piano starts playing, and the red curtain parts just enough to show off a woman standing in the middle of the light. Her hair is long, dark red, and wavy—he can also see her blood red eyes with the dark circles all around them and the fangs sticking out from her smile. Tony's always loved vampires. They fascinate him, plus the added fact that he likes blood. He's not masochistic or even sadistic, he just likes it.

Usually vampires are dressed in leather, studs, or other various Gothic things (they've been very stereotypical in the last few centuries), but this one is far from it. She's in a long, light blue dress with a dark pink shawl, light blue heels, and a matching light blue bow (a very large one, at that) sticking out from the back of her head. If Tony didn't know any better he'd say she was going to be innocent. But he's been to places like his before. He can't deny that he loves it, he just wishes he knew it wasn't coming.

As the piano goes, she starts to sing, walking cutely back and forth across the stage…

"_Dearest friends, dear gentlemen  
Listen to my song  
Life down here's been hard for you  
Life has made you strong  
Let me lift the mood  
With my attitude_

Hey fellas  
The time is right  
Get ready  
Tonight's the night  
Boys, what you're hopin' for will come true  
Let me be good to you

You tough guys  
You're feelin' all alone  
You rough guys  
The best o' you sailors and bums  
All o' my chums

So dream on  
And drink your beer  
Get cozy  
Your baby's here  
You won't be misunderstood  
Let me be good to you…"

And by that time she's gone back to the curtains, pulling them shut around her, and the lights are getting brighter and brighter around the room. The piano keeps playing, even gets faster, before it swings back open, with her now in black gloves that go up to the middle of her upper arm, and the pink shawl is gone. Her arms are bare now, revealing a sleeve of tattoos. Nothing fancy, just lots of spider webs.

"_Hey fellas…"_

She bends down and rips off the bottom of her dress, revealing a sort of leotard with blue feathers that match her bow sticking out around her back, and a frilly blue garter is on her right leg. It earns lots of applause, especially from Tony. He's seen his fair share of girls, but this one is… Hot damn, she is somethin'.

"…_I'll take off all my blues  
Hey fellas  
There's nothin' I won't do  
Just for you."_

She's joined by girls in nearly the same outfit, but all pink, dancing across the stage as she continues down the middle, still singing:

"_So dream on  
And drink your beer  
Get cozy  
Your baby's here  
Hey boys, I'm talkin' to you…"_

The music doesn't exactly pause, it just gets dragged on as the woman bends down at the end of the stage and motions for Tony to come to her. He doesn't take a single moment to wonder if she means him, he already knows it him that he means. Who else would she mean?

She takes his hand and pulls him up, and Tony, being the charmer he is, goes perfectly along with it, dancing in key without missing a beat.

She continues, giving him a little smirk as the crowd cheers:

"_Your baby's gonna come through  
Let me be good to youuuu!"_

As she drags out the last note, tons of "the girls", women and men alike, pour out of the stage in either the pink outfit or something else entirely, going to each man, woman, or whatever else is there and beginning the flirting process instantly.

Just as the note ends she takes both sides of Tony's faces and kisses him hard on the lips before spinning him away (in which he nearly topples off the edge of the stage, but he's cool enough that he jumps off in time and catches himself on his table instead), and then she gives the cutest, most adorable "Yeah!" with her arm thrown up that Tony has ever seen in his life.

"W-o-w," he says, tapping his fingers over his lips as she walks back up the stage and disappears into the back. "I think I'm in love."

Thor gives a hearty laugh, Phil snorts, and Bruce is silent, which means he's probably rolling his eyes.

"Do not get too excited, my friend," Thor says, patting his shoulder with one of his big, solid hands. Tony knows all too well what those hands can do. He loves them. Alternatively, whoever this girl is… Damn.

**OoOoOoO**

_BRUCE  
21:36…_

If Bruce liked women he'd be happy to agree with Tony that the woman who sang was attractive…but he doesn't. Sure, she is attractive, just not to him. So he just rolls his eyes and wishes he had a refill for his margarita. Where's that Captain America fellow? Actually, where's Phil…?

One last man comes out on stage, dressed in shimmering black and the deepest, most beautiful purple that Bruce has ever seen in his life. There are a mess of black and purple feathers sticking out of the top of his outfit, around his neck and shoulders. He's got the most wonderful arms…

"Can I get another round of applause fooor…" He spins and points to something Bruce can't see. "Drum roll, dearest Executioner."

A drum roll begins, and the entire place seems to join in either on the floor with their feet, the table with their hands, or their hands on their legs.

The man whips out a microphone from seemingly nowhere and all but yells into it: "The Blaaack Wiiiidowww!"

The crowd bursts into applause, including all of "the girls".

"Yes, yes, we love our feisty number six. She's available on request, and for those of you who don't know what her specialty is…" He grins, and laughter ripples through the crowd. "Well, she'll be back out in a moment and you'll see. That was her in one of her more innocent stages, singing 'Let Me Be Good to You' by Miss Kitty Mouse from the 1986 film, The Great Mouse Detective. _Veerrry_ old song but still one of her favorites. In the meantime, before she's back to sing again, we have another of our favorites, number fiiiive!"

More applause.

"Around here he's sometimes known as the Prince of Frost, though he's a bit hotheaded for my taste, if you know what I mean." He winks.

People laugh, though Bruce isn't really sure what he means. All he knows is _this man_. Just like Tony to the woman, w-o-w. Bruce isn't sure what to do. He can barely move. His mouth is dry, his eyes are wide, his jaw is dropped, and his heart is beating fast. And what's not helping is that the man has been keeping a steady eye contact with Bruce nearly since he set foot on the stage in the first place.

"He'll be singing another oldie, though not as old as the other, called "Don't Mess With Me" by a band called Temposhark!" He spins back and points again at this Executioner that Bruce can't see. "Drum rooooll!"

The drum roll starts, and the microphone in the man's hand is tossed aside with a flick of his wrist. Time seems to stop then but for the man, sauntering across the stage…down the three stairs to the floor…straight over to Bruce.

"Hey," he says, giving him an award winning smile that even Tony would have trouble competing with. "I'm number seven. Wanna ditch this?"

"Yes," Bruce says without hinder. He has no idea what these numbers mean, but he honestly doesn't care.

The man seems to notice. "Number seven means I'm one of those on call," he says, taking Bruce's hand and pulling him off of his chair. "Anyone with a number only gets calls."

Bruce frowns. "Then why did _you_ come to _me_?"

He smirks, pulling him after him as the drum roll continues. Is it really still going? Is time paused or something? Why does everything around him feel so slow while he's going so normal…? "You're just my type. I'll explain it later. Come on, my room's this way."

Bruce just nods and continues on. "I'm Bruce," he says without really thinking about it. This guy has a great ass, too.

Number seven squeezes his hand a bit. "Bruce," he repeats. "They call me Hawkeye around here," he says, leading him through a door. "But you can call be Clint."

"Clint," Bruce whispers, and never before has a more beautiful word escaped his lips.

**OoOoOoO**

_THOR  
21:41…_

"I gotta stay here until she comes back!" Anthony says, finally scrambling out of his position and back into his chair beside Thor. "I gotta…" He trails off, looking around as the drum roll eyes. "Where the fuck did Bruce and Phil go?"

Thor shrugs. "I was not watching," he says, focusing in on the middle of the stage. The curtains were red before, but now they are…black? Thor is not sure how that works, but he is also quite sure that he does not care. The spotlight is not bright, but instead very dim, making it seem like whatever is going to come out from behind the stage will be covered in sparkles.

The curtains part slowly, the light not illuminating anything at all. As the music begins (a dark, creepy sort of tone), though, the light begins to brighten, and slowly into being comes a man. He has inky black hair that cascades down to his shoulders, sticking out in random places. He is in a black long sleeve shirt with a v-neck, tight black pants, black suede boots that lace up to the knee, and a black cape with a hood. His fingernails are painted black, and there is a black collar around his neck that looks blue when reflected with a certain light and red in another.

"He is very dark looking," Thor whispers to Anthony.

"Shh, he's hot," Anthony says, flitting his wrist at him.

Thor shrugs. He cannot argue with that.

The man sometimes known as the Prince of Frost begins to walk forward, each stepping leaving an icy footprint, until he comes to the end of the first part of the stage (there are three parts to it, two of them branching off of the first strip that goes down the middle; it is very large). The music is still playing, though no words grace his lips.

He looks around at everyone, and Thor notices that his eyes are a lovely shade of emerald green. They are nearly being overshadowed by the black make-up arounthem, though. Thor also notices that he has two piercings: a stud on the left side of his nose with a sort of black gem and a stud above the far end of his right eyebrow with the same black gem. His hands used to be together, resting in front of him, but now the separate, slowly spreading his arms until they are lifted above him.

The crowd holds their breath, unsure of what to do.

And suddenly, without even the slightest of warnings, he bursts into flames. His entire body is completely enveloped, causing the crowd to gasp. Thor does not gasp, though. He is not easily surprised. The fire rages until, suddenly, it begins to frost over from top to bottom, until this Prince of Frost is completely coated in that which he is named for. Then it shatters, and this time Thor _does_ gasp.

The man's clothes are completely different. He now has on black fingerless gloves up to his elbows, and a black cloak with no sleeves or hood that tumbles all the way to the floor. He wears no pants, showing off that his underwear is black as well, with lacey stretches of fabric that go down to clip to matching black garters. He wears no shirt but for a single strap going diagonally from his left shoulder to clip to the right side of his underwear. The collar is still there, though now the shoes are not, and his finger and toenails are black as well.

He is exquisite, with a lean body built from care, work, and dominance. Thor knows those muscles when he sees them. He has them as well, though more from the constant lifting he does.

The music slowly changes to a new key, this one far from the creepier tone it was before to a sort of…well, Thor's not really sure what to call it.

That's when the man begins to sing. As he sings he walks, slowly down the middle. Thor does not notice it until he gets to it, but a metallic pole has risen out of the stage only a few feet from the stairs that leads directly to him and Anthony.

"_How it all began__  
__If truth be told__  
__Had a master plan__  
__Now I rule the world_

_Took 'em by surprise__  
__Worked my way up hill__  
__They looked into my eyes__  
__I became invincible_

_No one can stop me for only I am in control__  
__If you want me you'd better contact my people__In my crown, I am king__  
__I love their endless worshiping__  
__I am raw, a dinosaur__  
__But I will never be extinct_

_So don't mess with me__  
__I'll shoot you down__  
__Don't mess with me__"_

Still singing, the man wraps a leg around it, and Thor is instantly captured by his grace. He is beautiful, with a lovely voice and an even lovelier way of bending around the length of metal. The way he is able to continue singing perfectly as he lifts himself, and drags himself down in which is back is against the pole and his front is to Thor. His legs are spread as he goes down, thrusting his pelvis forward. His tongue flickers as he sings, _taunting_ any of those who see it. His arms are strong, and his stomach is taut, and his groin is large, and—

Something pinches Thor's skin, bringing him back to reality. He turns to see that it is only Anthony, giving him a grin. "Don't lose yourself yet, dude. Wait until the song is at least over."

Thor realizes he is panting. "I want him," he says.

Anthony nods. "Then get him. He's one of those number things. I have no idea what that means, but if you tell them you want number five then I'm sure they'll know exactly what you mean.

Thor nods and goes back to watching the man, waiting for the song to end.

"_Show me sex appeal__  
__Get on your hands and knees__  
__Forget about the meal__  
__It's best to keep me pleased__  
__Imagine, if you will__  
__our meet on the block__  
__I've got time to kill, so how about a quick fuck?__"_

Thor has never wanted anybody so intensely before. He had a thing for Jane a little while, but her working under him made things complicated, and it ended quickly.

_I've come, it's been fun, but won't you please disappear__  
__Something, tells me, that you can't further my career__In my crown, I am king__  
__I love their endless worshiping__  
__I am raw, a dinosaur__  
__I will never be extinct__Don't mess with me__  
__I'll shoot you down__  
__Don't mess with me_

He leaves the pole, walking back up the stage, continuing his song:

"_'Cause all your heads are gonna roll__  
__I've made your misery my goal__  
__So if you want survival__  
__Kneel on my arrival__  
__for this is how I rule the world_

_No one can stop me__  
__For only I am in control__  
__And if you want me__  
__You better contact my people_

_See my crown, I am king__  
__You'll love the endless worshiping__  
__I am raw, a dinosaur__  
__But I will never be extinct_

_So don't mess with me__  
__I'll shoot you down__  
__Don't mess with me__  
__I'll knock you down__  
__Don't mess with me__  
__I'll shoot you down__  
__Don't mess with me!"_

At the end of last note, the entire room seems to explode, including the Prince of Frost as he again combusts, frosts over, and then shatters. He is back in his old outfit now, though without either the cape or cloak. He walks silently off of the stage, pulling off his microphone and tossing it to the man known as the Executioner (who was doing the earlier drum rolls) and passes right by every table without a word or a glance, pushing a hand through his hair as he makes his way over to the bar.

Thor stands to go to him, not caring that nobody else seems to be moving.

"Ooh, honey, bad idea," a woman says, resting a soft hand on his arm. She is not one of "the girls", but simply a patron. "Loki doesn't talk to people."

Thor frowns. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Most of the people you see around here—including me—are frequenters and know all too well what happens when you try to cross in front of him. He's number five, the best number you can get. Anyone with a number is only on request, and Loki, Prince of Frost, God of Fire? The only ones who get to him are the richest and the _bravest_. He won't talk to you in person to set it up, and his starting price is brutal."

Anthony leans over and grins. "Trust me, sweetheart, my friends got the money _and_ the balls."

She shrugs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Thor thanks her and continues to get up, going over to the bar. He is stared at by some, but most are being distracted by the next woman that comes out, introduced by a man different than the one adorned in feathers. Thor can see Anthony groaning from here that it is not yet the woman he wants.

Thor goes right up next to this Loki, setting his empty glass onto the counter. "Mayhaps you would be interested in an ale?" he asks.

Loki does not look up as a different drink (water; how simplistic) is set down in front of him, one that he already ordered. He simply flits his wrist at Thor to go away.

Thor sits down beside him. "Anything else, then? Water seems very boring, does it not?"

Loki turns and gives him a very dark, very angry look. "I do not accept drinks from peasants," he says calmly.

"I am far from being a peasant," Thor says with the tiniest of smirks. Sometimes people mistake him for only pretending to be important because he wears his hair so long, but it does not bother him.

"Just because I am drinking water does not mean I want to be sober," he retorts, looking away. "Go away before I have you thrown out." Then, in another language entirely, he mutters to himself.

Thor was going to shrug and ask one of "the girls" how to request somebody to get him anyway, but when he hears the words in another language than English, well…by some small miracle, Thor knows this language, so he knows exactly what was said (and it was not at all pleasant), and he instantly knows what it means to fall in love.

"_I am like you_," Thor says in the same language that Loki spoke in. Norse; it is by far the most rare of all language in the world. Only Norse descendants are able to speak it (Anthony's species, the Jezik's, do not count). "_Of the same people_."

Loki freezes, the glass in his hands beginning to frost over while the liquid inside begins to bubble. The slowness in which he turns to Thor is absolutely unbearable.

"_Will you listen to me now_?" Thor continues in Norse.

The glass shatters in Loki's hand, and a few turn to look at them, thinking that Thor is going to get seriously whooped. Instead, though, Loki gets off his chair and steps as close to Thor as he can, standing between his legs and looking up at him with those emerald green eyes and black make-up.

"_You _must_ request me_," he says in Norse, dragging a finger slowly down Thor's arm. "_I am not allowed to bring back those that simply speak my language. You will pay no more than the starting price_." He holds both hands out and fires burst from his palms, and once they've shattered away by frost there is a slip of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. "_This is what you must give to the Man at the Door_," he says, writing on the paper with it pressed to Thor's chest for a hard surface. Two of the women behind the counter are literally _gaping_ at them. "_You will know of whom I speak as soon as you see him_." He pushes the paper into a little pocket on Thor's shirt. "_Come _now."

Just as the current show song ends, Loki bursts into flames, and when it shatters he is gone.

Thor smiles and pulls the note out of his pocket. In frosty blue colored ink it reads:

_Let him in.  
—Lo'_

He stands and makes his way around the room so that he can lay eyes on this "Man at the Door" and know who he is on sight, wishing Loki had been just a smidge more descriptive. It doesn't take long, though. It truly is obvious who Loki was speaking of.

He goes up to him and hands him the slip of paper, giving him a confident smile. He is a large, black man in much gold, standing beside a door with no actual door, but simply a curtain.

The man takes it, holding it up and looking at it before blowing out of his mouth at it. The blue words glow red before the entire note combusts, the ashes floating away. The man nods and looks up at the ceiling, and the next thing Thor knows is that he's bursting into flames.

**OoOoOoO**

_TONY  
21:47…_

Tony honestly doesn't give a shit about the woman going off stage right now, even _if_ her and her four backup dancers are hot and scantily dressed. He wants the Black Widow, or number six or whatever. He has a thing for redheads, after all. If she's not next he's going to break something…

A third announcer jumps on stage, this one a woman, and announces that none other than their favorite little Black Widow will be coming back on in just a moment. Tony nearly sings. Apparently she'll be singing her own version of a song called "120 Days" by the Genitorturers, from 1993, which right away has Tony wrinkling his nose up. This Black Widow girl seems to be pretty into songs from over a thousand years ago, and…well, a band called the Genitorturers? Tony does like blood, but he already knows he's not a masochist.

The lights dim again, but instead of the black curtains going down to hide whatever's behind it they raise away completely. It was just opened enough for one person to be seen through it, back when the "Prince of Ice" walked through. Now, though, it's revealed three different of "the girls" on each side, girl-boy-girl on one side and boy-girl-boy on the other. Their outfits are similar, with lots of leather and studs. The women are holding whips and the men have riding crops.

Some music starts, and in the middle of the stage, about as far back as you can get, smoke begins to pour out of the ground. A spot in the smoke begins to raise, showing off stairs up to a flat surface, and when it gets a few feet up it stops to allow another piece to go up. This one has somebody standing on top of it, and it rises up until its level with the pedestal.

And there stands the Black Widow, dressed in the largest amount of shiny black leather that Tony has ever seen anybody wear at once. Her top looks more like a jacket than a shirt, sleeves down to her wrists with zippers just after her shoulders. The collar is popped and very high, even curled over itself a bit, with red on the underside. It stops about an inch below her breasts, a single button holding them together, and the mere _size_ of her breasts are fighting for freedom against it. Her stomach is pale (as is the rest of her skin), and there's a tattoo (at least it looks like one from here) of a red hourglass there for the spider image in "Black Widow", the triangles of the hourglass meeting at her naval.

Her pants seem almost painfully tight and he can't see the ends of them because they're being covered by black, shiny leather stiletto boots with a buckle on the outer side on the top and the rest lined in spots with spikes. There are three lines that Tony can see, going down the two sides and the front, and there's probably a row in the back as well. On the toe, shaped more like combat boots than pointed heels, are three of the biggest spikes on her, the two on the side about an inch and a half long and the one in the middle about two.

Her long, dark red, wavy hair has been pulled up into an elaborate design on top of her head, she's got on earrings with webs on the end, and around her neck is an intricate choker with a pendant Tony can't make out from here. Her nails are _long_ (about as long as they can be without being _too_ long) and painted blood red, as are her lips. Her eye make-up hasn't changed, still with dark circles around her eyes to heighten her being a vampire. They're probably real, though, if she works crazy stripper hours.

She's giving the perfect sort of grin that shows off just enough of her fangs, her legs are spread in a strong looking stance, and her arms are held just enough away from her sides that she can have her palms turned up and her fingers curled inward just enough not to be touching.

The six others on the stage start to dance right about then, without moving from their places, and the Black Widow begins to sing:

"_Do our choosing without hesitation..._

_Give yourself over to sin.  
Your one chance for redemption  
shall come when the spark is ignited within.  
Forced to sever the ties  
to this world—  
which is bound by lies.  
You're free from original sin  
forced to find what was hidden within."_

She starts walking down the stairs as the music continues, but she ceases to sing, hands still at her side and mouth back to that crooked little grin. Her backup dancers spread out about then, whips cracking and riding crops smacking against hands and floors when the men bend down just right.

"_Breathe you in  
lead you out."_

The man that was in-between the two women and the woman that was in-between the two men spin over until they're beside her, in which she holds her arms at as she continues to sing, whip and riding crop who knows where as they match her dance motions.

"_Inflame your passions within our depravity  
give yourself over to sin.  
You won't emerge without transformation  
Flesh or soul will win."_

As she sings she throws her arms out, and the two beside her reach up to unzip the spots just below her shoulders before yanking down the now unattached sleeves, showing off the tattoos of her arms. Tony didn't notice before, but there's also a black widow tattooed at the ends of each wrist, their backsides facing her palms.

"_Forced to sever the ties  
to this world—  
which is bound by lies.  
You're free from original sin  
forced to find what is hidden within._

A whip is handed to her from, seemingly, out of nowhere.

"_I am in command!"_

Crack!

"_I am in command!"_

Crack!

She wraps it up by spinning it around the waist of one of the men, pulling him over to her and trading him so that now she's got his riding crop and he's spinning away to unwrap himself.

"_Forced to lay  
locked away  
made to serve…  
another hundred-twenty days."_

Two woman and two men start to dance beside her as she ceases to sing and the music continues, and the man and woman who aren't dancing with them are dancing their own thing, making their way down to the two smaller side stages and grabbing the poles there, both their whips abandoned somewhere Tony can't see (because the man is the one that Natasha switched with).

"_You rise in the presence  
of our libertinage  
taste all the pleasures of sin.  
Your one desire  
controlled by perversion  
compelled by lust within."_

She breaks away from the dance with the other four, still singing, and begins her own things that involves walking forward some more, her riding crop spinning in her hands.

"_Forced to sever the ties_

_to this world—  
which is bound by lies.  
You're free from original sin...  
Release what was hidden within."_

Everyone on the stage freezes in a different position than the others, the four up top are somehow all different even though they were doing the same dance, and Tony wasn't paying much attention to the two on the pole. The Black Widow continues to sing in her frozen position as well:

"_Forced to lay  
locked away  
made to serve…  
Another hundred-twenty days."_

She starts to move again, taking a few steps back before resuming her walk forward to the metallic pole that's still raised out of the ground. Tony can see the pendant on her necklace, now. It's just a spider, legs sticking out and eight bright red eyes staring back at the world.

"_I slide a glance in your direction  
Just what you need, and then you'll want to say…"_

She freezes, and everybody else finally starts to move again, her continuing to sing:

'_Fill my hole with your affection.'  
Conditioned to begin  
10 more hours to save your flowers  
or watch them wilt away."_

She swings once around the pole (not flipping up, but simply swinging around it with an arm and leg to switch her direction) and walks back to her group, the four of them doing a sort of "welcoming her back to them" dance that she spins around when she gets to the middle to before they all start dancing together.

"_We'll hunt you. We'll hunt you down."  
We want you. We want you."_

The four extra dancers spin off to the sides and freeze, and the two on the pole simply stop with their feet flat on the ground and legs spread, one arm wrapped around to hold to the pole behind their back and the other stretched above them and holding the spot up top.

"_Where forever is one daaaayyy!"_

The song ends with a bang, lights exploding in the back and smoke poofing out of all sorts of places. As the Black Widow swings her arm down and stands up straighter, the other dancers straighten out as well, walking seductively off of the stage/away from their poles and into the crowd.

The star pulls her microphone off of her ear and tosses it down to the Executioner fellow before spinning around and walking back up the stage, disappearing once more.

Tony lets out a groan. He missed her! How could he _miss_ her? He leaps up, taking his drink with him, and goes straight over to the bar counter.

"Excuse me," he says to a woman dressed up as a very sexy Batgirl. "How do you get somebody's name to or number to request them?" He's not really sure how the whole number thing works, but it seems important.

She grins. "After the Black Widow, then?"

Tony nods. He might as well not keep it a secret. It's a fuckin' Chitauri stripper club, not some shady place your name could get out of. Maybe the Chitauri are shady, but not the places they run.

She whips something out from under the counter and holds it out to him. "It's an electronic list," she says. "Write your name on the next open line and you'll be called in when it's your turn."

Tony frowns, seeing that there are already six people down. "If you pay enough can you push yourself up to the top?"

She grins again, picking up the stylus and clicking around a bit. "If you want to pay this much for the starting price," she says, pointing to a number with lots of zero places, "then yes, you can do anything you want."

Tony snorts, snatching the stylus from her and signing his name. "Money is no object," he says. "I came here to spend it, not wait around." He pushes the device back to her. "Thank you. Now what?"

She laughs, taking the device and putting it back below the counter. "Just wait here," she says. "She's done with public shows for the night, so she'll be stopping by the bar for a drink. I show her the list, she sees the name and mutters it to herself as she reads it, and you smile and say hi. I'll be here to vouch that it's you so you don't have to show any proof."

Tony grins. "That easy?"

She laughs again. "Not usually. You're new here, though, so for now, yes."

Tony waits at his bar stool, one away from the edge, for only about four minutes before he hears a laugh he places right away. He turns to see her making her way through the crowd, men and women at her heels, trying to win her over with a joke.

"That's enough, kids," she says, flitting her wrist at them with a good natured eye roll. "You'll have to sign up and wait your turn if you want to talk anymore."

They leave her alone as she goes sits down, maybe because of what she said but also maybe because of the two Chitauri guards that appear out of nowhere to shoo them away.

"Water, Lilith," she says, leaping onto the stool and spinning around on it a few times. She looks different than she did a minute ago, with her hair out of its high design and back to how it was when she sang her first song, down and flowing. Her top is different, not so shiny and with a length all the way down to her waist instead of just below her breasts. Her pants are the same, but now her boots are black suede with laces up to the tops (they're the same as the ones the Prince of Frost guy was wearing). He can see a lacey red bra peeking out of her jacket, her blood red lipstick has been replaced with a darker shade, and her nails look sharper and are now painted black.

"You should really start drinking something stronger while you're working, Nat." Batgirl says, giving her a glass.

Black Widow snorts, downing half of her glass right away. "What, and give everyone else the upper hand? I don't think so."

"It's not like _they're_ sober."

She shrugs. "The Other doesn't let me have any blood while I work unless it's during an actual private dance and they'll pay extra for it."

She flits her wrist. "I'd give you some anyway, but his minions would see me."

Black Widow laughs, "What, the Chitauri? Lil', you know those guys don't even have their own brain. They're all linked up. Like the Borg, from Star Trek."

Batgirl is about to say she has no idea what she's talking about (Tony knows because the look on her face is the exact same as his and that's what he would have said), but instead she snaps her mouth shut as a gross looking hand comes beside the Black Widow and rests against her shoulder.

Black Widow freezes for a split second before turning towards him. The Chitauri says something nasty to he, and Tony can't tell if she understood it or not. She honestly looks terrified, to be honest. Why would _she_ be afraid of them? What can _they_ do to her? They're the minions, after all. Then again, if she's afraid of them, there's reason…

Tony spins in his chair, putting on one of his best charm filled smiles he's got. "_Hey hot stuff, come here often_?" he says in the Chitaurian language, which is mostly just a lot of well placed clicks, growls, hums, and the like—and obviously this monster is nowhere _near_ attractive, but Tony's gotta do what he can.

The minion turns to him and gives a smile reeking of bad breath and cavities. "_I work here, asshole_," he says back.

Tony smirks. "_Get any days off_?"

He (Tony just refers to them as males because that's what their entire species refers to themselves as, seeing that they don't have gender specifications that you can decipher the females from the males) gives a skeptical look. "_What're you getting at, punk_?"

Tony reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out what anybody else _thinks_ are his _own_ business cards, but in reality they're the cards for his least favorite person in the entire world: Justin Hammer. He's been doing this for years to anyone he knows won't know either of them personally so he can get out of something. "_You're probably not allowed to sample the merchandise, but I promise you I'm a great alternative. Call me when you're free_."

The Chitauri grins, takes it, tucks it away (_where_ Tony doesn't know), and stalks off.

Tony turns to the Black Widow and Batgirl with a completely straight face, to which he's only able to keep for about three seconds. He breaks down into silent laughter (so the Chitauri doesn't hear), turning away from them so he doesn't seem like even more of an idiot than he already is.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, waving his hand at them to wave off any judgment. "I just…I had to. You guys looked terrified. That wasn't even my card; I give out ones for this guy I know that I've hated for years. It's great."

Batgirl bursts into what sounds like genuine laughter, but the Black Widow gives the tiniest and cutest of giggles that Tony has ever heard in his entire life.

She takes a sip of water. "You're the one I kissed during my first song," she says, turning her spinning stool to face him.

Tony grins. "Yeah. Hi."

She lets out a more genuine laugh. "Brilliant, hun," she says, elbowing him a bit as she turns back to Batgirl. "Alright, Lil', gimme that damn list."

Batgirl grins, pulling out the electronic list and pushing it in front of her.

"Wow," Black Widow says after clicking around. "That starting price means…he would have been seventh, right? See who he was by chance? The way he wrote it makes him seem like some fancy nut I'll have to pretend to laugh at. Hmm, can Tony be a girl name?"

Tony and Batgirl share a glance before bursting into laughter.

Black Widow cocks an eyebrow before the look in her eyes shouts at that she gets it. "_You're_ Tony Stark?" she asks, pushing at his shoulder. "You should have _said_ something!"

He grins. "You gotta admit this way is way more fun."

She gives a seductive smile. "Wanna go?"

"You know it."

"Thank the gods you're actually funny." She takes his hand and pulls him along.

"Can I ask a maybe personal question?" he asks as she leads him along.

"Possibly," she says, pulling him closer until their arms are linked.

"I'm just wondering why you're so…I mean, you're a porn star—or dancer or whatever—right? So usually you just cater to whatever's around you so that it works out no matter what, right?"

She smirks. "I'm a number. That's request only. When you've got a number you'll get requests no matter what happens. Lo—er, the Prince of Frost gets nearly twice as much as I do and he treats everyone like shit. I at least pretend I like somebody even when I don't. Frosty, though, won't crack a smile for anything he doesn't care to do it for."

Tony nods. "It doesn't matter if you're always dressed with nearly nothing or if you're always coming onto people, then?"

"Well, you requested me because of the dances, right? So did everybody else, and that was nearly fifteen people just for the night, not all of which I'll be getting to, so they'll have to come back and try again. So why would I need to do any of that if I'm already booked?"

Tony nods again, pushing his free hand into his pocket. "You gotta point there, Widow. A damn fine point."

She smiles at him. "Natasha," she says quietly, pushing open one last door. "You can call me Natasha."

Tony smiles at her, going into the room before her. Natasha. Yeah, definitely in love.

* * *

End branch authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of branch number 1! Just the initial meet-up's and "get together's" of our main pairings :) To be honest my knowledge of strip clubs is limited considering that I'm not old to go to one nor do they explain them in the detail I'd prefer in movies or books, so y'all will just have to bare with me here! Me, myself, and my appalling grammar. None of these are beta'd so it's just me and my zero mistake catching skills. Woo.

Also, for the species names? They're literally just other languages I nicked off of Google Translator XD Tony is a Jezik, which is "language" in Croatian. Thor is a Lisatasu, which is "extra" in Estonian, and a Mapagparaya, which is "tolerant" in Filipino. Bruce is a Pyktis Pabaisa (which is literally "rage monster" in Lithuanian). These _will_ come into play later, but it doesn't really matter if you know what they mean or not. They do help though, if you happen to know the language when you read it, considering how basic they actually are XD Anyway, some more species will be coming into play as well for the other characters, and I'll have those at the end of whatever branch they're in as well :) And for one more name: the Skrull. In the comics that's actually an alien race that is mentioned a _lot_ with the Chitauri, so that's where I got it from. Haha.

And yes, the times below the names _are_ important. I put it into military time because it's the future and I don't know I decided to make it so that everybody uses that instead of AM and PM. Anyhoo, I put the times under because it jumps back and forth all the time. I mean, Phil ditched off at one time while Bruce, Tony, and Thor kept going, right? So while they're doing their own stuff, Steve's perspective comes in (which you'll see very soon), but it's back when Phil first ditched off, so…well anyway I jump around a lot.

Anyway, here are that songs that were sung, if you wanted to look them up and haven't yet :)

**1.** "Let Me Be Good to You" by Miss Kitty Mouse, from The Great Mouse Detective as the first song of the night and of Natasha's lips, where I stole a lot of the moves and also the outfit whoops.

**2.** The second song that Natasha sang (the fourth of the night) is by the Genitorturers, called 120 Days. The actual chick that sings it is…well, Scarlett Johansson sounds _nothing_ like her, so just picture a more deconstructed version of it—or the way the lyrics are sung, anyway. The instruments can stay the same. I don't know, be a Loki and do what you want.

**3.** The song that Loki sang (the second of the night) is "Don't Mess with Me" by Temposhark.

And that's that! The next branch we get to the down and dirty, if you know what I mean ;) Aaalso the four main of "the girls" will be explained as well, including how they got into their profession and what species they are and all that.

Tell me what you guys think so far :) Or hey, don't. I wrote this to step out of my usual zone of writing, not really for anyone else. Okay maybe I write everything with all you little fuckers in mind but that's only 'cause I love yuh XD

PS a friend of mine decided that, with Natasha being a vampire AND part-spider… Her new name is Bitey Spidey. Yes.


	2. Part I, Branch II

**Part I, Branch II: It's My Specialty**

_STEVE  
Time: 21:34…_

Steve watches as Phil swings away from his table without saying a word to his three friends, smirking both at the fact that he seems so eager and at Natasha's first showing for the night. She's called the Black Widow around here, but she's only _half_ part-spider. Her mother was part-spider, but her father was a full vampire. She's what people know as a Duobus Diversis (also called an inter-species), which mean she's two different things because of her parents. The species is rare in itself because it's usually whoever has the more dominant genes to their species that pass it on to the child—so she _should_ have been a full vampire, but instead she's part-spider as well. Vampires can't turn into bats and _can_ see their own reflections (though nobody else can see them unless they're also a vampire), though it's true that she can't go into the sunlight. She's Russian, which is common, as is its language, but she can also speak Latin and Greek, which are both languages considered to be four-star rare. There's one-star rare, also known as common (such as English, Spanish, French, Italian, and most of the Asian languages), two-star rare (such as Irish and German), three-star rare (such as Arabic and Estonian) four-star rare (such as Natasha's Latin and Greek), and the world only has two five-star rare languages (being Norse and Romanian, which are both rare simply because it _can't_ be learned but is instead passed down through generations until it disappears entirely).

Partly because of Natasha's predicament and partly because she's a vampire, she hasn't seen the sun since she was two years old. She was forced into being a "porn star" (just as Steve was, but that's another story…) because her parents sold her to this place. She of course wasn't given out as an option to do anything with right away, but all of the other "girls" basically adopted her as their own. Everyone knows each other here, but Natasha's somewhat of a legend because she's been here for so long. She was taught by the best and is therefore one of the best now.

There are four of "the best". In order its Loki (number five), Natasha (number six), and then Steve (number eighteen) and Clint (number seven) are "tied". There's actually no rhyme or reason to the numbers because they chose them on their own, but they like to tell everybody else that there's actually some significance behind them. The only significance that Steve has noticed, though, is that five, six, and seven all add up to eighteen, and that's mostly just coincidence. The numbers didn't come into play until about six years ago, and all of Loki, Natasha, and Clint were here and chose them together. Steve, though, didn't get in until four years ago, and even then it wasn't till about a year and a half ago that the Other decided he was good enough to have a number.

Loki (known to everyone else as either the "Prince of Frost" or "God of Fire" depending on the public show he'll be doing) is…hard to get along with. Maybe Natasha was sold by her parents when she was _two_, but Loki definitely has it hardest out of the four of them. He was kicked out of his home a few months before his seventeenth birthday and was just wandering aimlessly around a long while later, looking for a new place to go after his most recent place, when he was snatched off the streets by a couple of the Chitauri.

He was presented to the "vice-master" (he's referred to as the Other to any of "the girls". The _actual_ owner of the Skrull is called Thanos, but he's mostly never here because he's also a highly revered businessman that has to keep up appearances and the like. He hired a bunch of the Chitauri to run this place for him _years_ ago, long before Steve had ever even heard of this place) to see if he'd be good enough, and the Other took a particular…fondness to him. Now, being taught by the best and even by the Other himself, Loki is the best you can get around here. The problem is the collar around Loki's neck, which nobody but the three of Steve, Natasha, and Clint know means that he hasn't just been forced into working at the Skrull…he's basically a sex slave. Just for the Other, though, who doesn't let anyone else near him unless they're a paying costumer. That's the reason Loki's so cold, though. He's forced to do whatever the Other wants and he can't do anything about it. He used to fight it, but he's been hurt so many times that…well, even people like him can be broken.

The reason the Other wants him so much, though, isn't because he's attractive (though he is _damn_ attractive), but because everything about him is beyond rare. Natasha's a Duobus Diversis, but Loki is a _Nordic Mapagparayan Duobus Diversis_. He's a descendant of one of the only two five-star languages, he's an inter-species, and his being a Mapagparaya means that it's _very_ hard to kill or injure him because he has such a high tolerance. Being hit by even a car would only send them flying, leaving scratches in a few places, or being hit by a train would do nothing but sprain a few things. His inter-species are the fact that his father was a Frost Giant (hence his "Prince of Frost") and his mother was a Child of the Sun (hence his "God of Fire). He is able to cause things to combust (not _control_ fire, but simply make one start; if he were a full Child of the Sun he would be able to control it completely) and frost things over (not water or ice, but frost; Steve never knew there was much of a difference until Loki came along and explained it to him; if he were a full Frost Giant he would not only be bigger, but also be able to control water and ice). He used to be able to use those powers to try and escape, but as mentioned earlier, he has long sense tried to run away. He can also teleport things with the fire and frost powers, which confuses Steve beyond all reason and he honestly does not want to ask how it works for fear of sitting down to an hour long explanation.

With his background and continued life, Loki is the last person in the world that Steve would thought he'd get along with, but they managed nicely since they were both forced into it and both have numbers. Loki is rude to anyone who speaks to him even _when_ he's in private with a client, but he's still attractive enough and the best at what he does, so he continues to get the most requests out of anyone in the history of the Skrull, bad attitude and all. His specialty is the actual sex, in which he dominates, so not only does he get his frequenters, but sometimes he's sent beginners who don't have a clue what they're doing. His only rule is that he doesn't submit, which most people don't understand, but Steve, Natasha, and Clint know very well is for the fact that he's forced to do things for the Other, and being dominated reminds him of that and he'll have nervous breakdowns.

Natasha's specialty is masochism (from her to the client), so her next dance (they all practiced before the Skrull opened so all of "the girls" saw it) with whips and riding crops while she sings a song by the Genitorturers makes perfect sense. Most people here are frequenters and know that about her. She never does any actual sex (there are other girls for that), and to be honest she's never even given extra for the suggestion of it. People who go to her want pain, not sex. Some come to her for the fact that she's a vampire, some come to see the webs that she can shoot out of her wrists (that's why there are black widow's tattooed to her wrists with their backsides facing her palms; where the webbing would come out of them if they were real is exactly where her own webbing comes out), and others just like the "M" in S&M. She's the Black Widow around here, playing up the spider half and subtly advertising that her bite is poisonous. Vampires have two sets of poison in them, one of them to simply kill and the other to turn whoever they bite into a vampire as well. It's illegal, so it doesn't happen very often, but there are still cases for it. _Or_ if they bite they can choose not to secrete _either_ of the poisons, simply biting for the blood. A vampire bite is said to heighten pleasure like no other, so lots of her clients pay extra to receive a few. She doesn't even have to suck the blood, though she usually does a bit anyway since she's otherwise not allowed to during work hours.

Clint (known as Hawkeye) ran away from home years ago and joined on his own accord without a clue of what he was getting into, and now he's forced to stay. He, Steve, and Loki are allowed guarded sunbathes on the roof above the Skrull for their dose of sunlight (Loki especially needs it because he's part Child of the Sun) on specific days (Loki every day or he'll die) so they don't become deprived and pale, though if they do there's sunshine supplements and fake tans. Loki, though, can't take the sun supplements; he needs the real deal at _least_ once a day or he'll become ill, deathly ill in two days, and dead in three. Besides the fact that the Other forces Loki to do his bidding, he's actually _very_ well taken care of.

Other than English (_everyone_ can speak English; it doesn't even have a check-box in the language census anymore, so if English is your only language you don't check anything at all), Clint speaks Hungarian, because for about two years after he ran away he lived in Budapest, and that's their main language. He's a Se Igennem, which means he has no differences whatsoever with a human but for anything that has to do with his _eyes_. He can change his color at will, see through things, see perfectly in the dark, know exactly which species you are with just a glance (so if he looked at Loki, who looks nothing but human, he would know that he was part Frost Giant and part Child of the Sun in less than a second), know your basic feelings at the moment in the same glance (he explains it as each thing having a basic color, such as red for anger, blue for sadness, and yellow for happiness), and lastly is able to pinpoint exact objects with acute accuracy (meaning that if he throws something it _will_ hit its target, which is why he's called Hawkeye, though nobody would know that unless they knew his species as well, so Steve's not really sure why _that's_ the name they chose for him). Everything about his eyes are heightened to the extreme, as well, so he can read a book from across the Skrull's main stage or read somebody's lips from across the rooms.

His specialty is, to be basic, the opposite of Loki's. The Prince of Fire (Steve, Natasha, and Clint call him that and/or God of Frost when he's not around, not to be mean but just because it makes them laugh every time at the mash up, which is stupid but for the fact that they're porn starts and have to entertain themselves _somehow_) dominates, but Hawkeye is known for his submission. Those who want to submit go to Loki, and those who are masochists go to Natasha, but those that are sadists go to Clint. He's a masochist all on his own, so the fact that he gets to do it for a living really doesn't bother him that much. He _chose_ to be here, after all. Sure, it sucks that he can't leave, but he's somehow really upbeat about and is always cracking jokes and is even the one who hosts Comedy Night every Thursday.

He also dances pole and cage when he's bored or on the one day a week when he's got requests off (today, actually). Usually the only time he's bored, though, is either when the Skrull is closed, so he's simply practicing, or after a certain point in the night when nobody's allowed to request him anymore. Anyone with a number is _allowed_ to go flirt with the patrons, but the four of them really don't unless it's some sort of free time. Natasha and Loki definitely do _not_, but Clint does because he's a huge flirt anyway and Steve does because he helps with waiting tables so he sort of has to.

Steve got in by…well, he's blocked a lot of it from his memory, to be honest. Sometimes he even takes pills that don't allow him to remember it at all for up to twenty-four hours. They're really handy when he knows he's not going to be very busy that night, because when he's got nothing to do he's got nothing to do but think. The pills are beginning to truly affect it, though, so he's trying not to use them as much. He was with his best friend when it happened, after all, and he doesn't want to forget him…

Steve was fully human, very weak and with many physical problems. He finally went to a doctor to do anything he could to fix it, getting rid of things like pneumonia symptoms and asthma. In the process, though, he used him as a sort of experiment (that was mentioned briefly to Steve without any sort of consent or explanation) that caused him to not only be completely cured of any disease or problem he had, but make him grow _feet_ taller and even wider in nothing but muscle and hot skin. Even after that, though, he's still just human. Just because he got bigger in every direction (including a few…other places) and is therefore about three times as strong as he used to be doesn't mean he's changed species.

After that, his best friend, Bucky, announced that it was time to get laid. So, Bucky brought him here. They came back a second time, and that time…the Chitauri must have wanted them, because when they were taken into the back for their respective dances they were nabbed by Chitauri guards and pushed back together to be taken to the Other for inspection. And…well, Bucky lasted there for about three days as a pole dancer before deciding he was going to get out of there, and Steve never saw him again. He doesn't even know if he's alive.

The only language Steve can speak is English, ever the American patriot. It's perfect considering that that's his show theme, being called Captain America and all. He's even got a shield that he uses at a tray when waiting tables. It's curved, but Steve figured out how to use it perfectly the moment he got it. It's impressive looking, but it's actually pretty damn easy. Magnetized glass bottoms are the best thing ever. It makes it almost impossible for people to bump over their glasses, because the glasses don't move unless you specifically pick them up. His specialty is anything foreplay related, which costs the least out of the four on request, but most of the time they want the sex too when they get into it like that, so he still rakes in plenty enough to tie with Clint. Steve's sweet as honey and has a smile that lights up worlds, which is not only inviting for a first time, but it gets people coming back for him again. He's a bloody good flirt (mostly because he's good at reading people—though not as good as Clint, obviously—and knows exactly how to handle to them) and amazing with his hands.

He doesn't do public dances on poles, stages, or cages alike, though, because no matter how much he practices or _how_ good his teacher is he's just _not good at it_. Maybe it's because he's so big, but either way it just doesn't work, so instead he helps out with waiting on tables, makes a mean margarita, and flirts around to get people into his bed. He's the only one with a number who actually has to do a bit of flirting to get clients, to be honest, but he's alright with that. It's fun. He usually doesn't flirt with them enough to get them to want him to go with them _now_, but he puts it into their heads enough and keeps walking past them with winks just right that eventually they cave and request him. It was more difficult to get lots right at first, but now that most of the people who come in are regulars, they know him and knows exactly how good he is, and he also gets people who have been referred to him by a friend—sometimes he even gets somebody sent to him without specific request, but usually his specialty isn't really one for getting people sent. Those usually go to any of "the girls" without numbers, and sometimes Natasha, Loki, or Clint if they're specific enough in what they want and are willing to pay that much.

Steve likes flirting even if he doesn't mean it, but something about tonight was…real. Something about Phil just simply fascinates Steve. Obviously he was first caught by his robotic eye (how much more of him is cyborg, if any?), but the fact that he's in a full-piece, classic black suit in a place like this and also that he tries to keep his emotions all to himself is captivating as well. He seems like a businessman, but most businessmen are outgoing and like a good laugh, while Phil just looked darkly around. When he was talking to Phil at the bar he learned a little bit about how he "doesn't even belong here", but it seemed more in depth than that. And he's attractive, to say the least, especially with the eye and the suit, so Steve would love to do some sketches. Whenever he's sunbathing with Loki and Clint he brings up a sketchbook; he was a college art major before all this, after all (he was a freshman when he was taken). The building is low enough that you can actually see the crowd below (though they don't usually look up and see them), so Steve can draw large amounts of people if he can memorize their features fast enough. Usually he just gets to sigh and draw the buildings, though. Sometimes Clint does some weird pose for him so he can get a curve down right, but for the most part him and Loki just sleep, giving Steve no new material.

His shield is empty of glasses, so he swings it around and hooks it onto the clip on his back so he doesn't have to carry it, making his way over to Phil as he wanders through the crowds and tables to get to the first wall he sees, directly across from the stage. Steve gets to him before he gets to the wall, sliding his arm around Phil's so that their arms are linked.

Phil looks up at him with a surprised look to see Steve grinning down at him, and Steve lifts a finger to his lips to motion for him to be quiet. It doesn't really matter if he is, of course, since it's so loud, but he knows it's cute anyway.

He pulls Phil along and through a doorway without a door and instead a beaded curtain (for some reason people are less likely to go through it; doors are inviting to those that like to snoops, especially if they're locked). Beside the curtain is also a guard, who's not a Chitauri but somebody who doesn't really talk. He's big, black, and the only thing Steve knows about him is that his name is Heimdall and he likes to wear gold. They walk through the corridors until they come to Steve's red bedroom door, with CAPTAIN AMERICA written in blue across it and a white star below it with the number eighteen written in blue inside of it.

It's technically just the bedroom he uses with clients; his private bedroom is actually a room he shares with Natasha and Clint. They have their respective client bedrooms as well, but the three of them all share their own private bedroom when actually sleeping. There are two twin sized beds, but Steve gets a queen sized because he's so much bigger, which they completely respect. Sometimes, when Natasha's has a particularly rough day, she flops into it with him, and sometimes Clint sleeps next to him just because he's can. They also use him for a heater during the winter, so all three of them get to cram together, but Steve loves it and wraps his arms around them like they're in a romantic three-way instead of just friends. They're not, of course, and they never will be, but who cares for details?

Loki gets a client room _and_ a private room all to himself, which is part of how he's treated so well. The Other even sends people shopping for him sometimes, and on rare occasions he takes him shopping himself. There are Chitauri guards placed all around, of course, so he can't get away. Loki's tried escaping so many times it's amazing, to be honest. He once even used his abilities to combust the Other himself, but it still didn't work, and that was the worst punishment he's ever gotten. After that he stopped trying. "If I can't kill the one keeping me captive then I'll never leave," he had once said. Steve, Natasha, and Clint used to invite him to sleep with them on some nights, but the God of Frost would honestly just rather be alone, so they stopped.

Steve pulls out a key for the old fashioned lock on his door. Many in this day and age can break a key code in a second, but hardly anybody even knows how a classic key _works_ anymore. He pushes it open and motions for Phil to go first, who does, looking around at the patriotic decoration of the room, eyes lingering on a few of the stuffed eagles sitting on a shelf. The rooms are designed to be seen as their private bedrooms that they even sleep in, but it's all a fake. Steve doesn't even like eagles. Sure, he's patriotic and was born on July fourth, but birds actually scare him a bit. Not Hawkeye, though, even though he wears a lot of feathers. He's far too cute to scare Steve.

"Either you're very patriotic or you're supposed to be," Phil says, eyes training over to the king sized bed. It's only that size because he's got a number. Most of the beds are twin, and queen if you're on your way to having a having a number as well.

Steve grins, closing and locking the door. "A lot of both," he says. "Now…" He takes Phil's hand and leads him over to the bed. "How do you want this done? It's your night. You make the rules."

Phil frowns. "I have _no_ idea."

Steve laughs, pushing him lightly down into a sitting position. "That's fine; I've done this plenty of times. I know where to start. In the meantime, so you know, I usually specialize in the foreplay, but for you…" He grins, sitting down beside him, resting a hand on his knee. "Anything you want. Then again…" He lifts his hand and stands. "It will have to cost more, so maybe you just want to stick with what everyone else knows I'm best at so you're sure to get your moneys worth."

Phil shakes his head. "I have the money."

Steve chuckles, kicking off his boots without using his hands. It took him a couple of years to figure out how to do it, but he's glad he took the time to figure it out, because it can be very helpful. Not now, because they haven't started yet, but some people come in and don't talk. They just want to be pleasured and don't care about what Steve's specialty is as long as he's naked. Phil kicks his fancy dress shoes off as well. A thousand years ago people wore these things called _socks_, but in 3013 they don't need them anymore. They're just built into shoes.

Phil purses his lips as Steve pulls off his gloves (those he _does_ need his hands, obviously). "We could, um, see where it goes? I mean, so I don't have to set a specific stopping point or…whatever."

Steve laughs again, going back over to him. "Just let me take care of you," he whispers, leaned down to Phil's ear. "I can make you feel any way you want to."

Phil swallows and nods. "Okay," he chokes out.

Steve leans away and sets to work on taking off the top pieces of Phil's suit, folding them and placing them on the carpeted floor as he goes. Some people don't give a shit about that, so clothes end up everywhere, but Phil seems like the type of guy who would be bothered by a crease here and a wrinkle there. Once it's all off he takes a step back and works on his own clothes (well, "clothes").

Phil just _stares_ at him as he does it, eyes darting over every inch of his body from his face to his feet. Steve is able to resist the urge not to laugh because he's so used to stuff like this. He knows he's attractive (his doctor made sure of that, plus he wouldn't have a number if he wasn't; it wouldn't matter _how_ good at something he was, people would be uncomfortable with somebody unattractive) and Phil obviously hasn't "gotten any" in quite a while, so he'll do what he can to make this the best. He likes Phil, after all. He's just so fascinating somehow.

Steve strips everything off but his underwear (which is nothing fancy, just the classic tighty whities—which he notices Phil smirk at) before grinning and stepping back over to Phil and pushing him back down so that his back is against the bed.

"I saw your face," he says, referring to the underwear. "Usually it doesn't matter what I've got on because the people who come to me aren't here for anything that requires me to undress, and if it gets any further they're not paying attention to what _underwear_ I've got on."

Phil tries very hard to hold back a giggle. "That's fine," he says. "They're cute."

Steve smiles warmly at him. How many people have called him cute not including him? Exactly two. How many people have called his underwear cute? Exactly zero. He leans down and presses his lips softly to Phil's, coaxing him into it slowly instead of going hard at it right away. Some people just want to get it over with, but Phil is definitely the sort of guy that needs some coaxing—especially since he's so obviously deprived.

He opens his mouth and traces his tongue lightly over Phil's lips before parting them, and he's surprised when Phil's tongue actually darts out first, pushing against Steve's. His hands reach up to grip to Steve's sides, hands just barely stretching around them. Steve's wide, after all.

Steve breathes a laugh into Phil's mouth, reaching a hand up to rest it lightly against Phil's cheek. His other hand pushes against one of Phil's at his side and winds their fingers together before pushing it up above both of their heads, resting them against the pillow.

Phil gives a little whining noise that Steve knows full well the meaning to, so he pulls his lips back by about a centimeter and smiles warmly down at him, the hand on his cheek tracing down and fingering at the collar of his crisp white button-up.

"Want this off?" he asks in a whisper.

Phil nods, eyes dark with want.

Steve lets go of his other hand and sits up on him, placing his wait strategically on his knees so that he doesn't crush the man. Steve is big and Phil is…not. He's not small, he's just not _big_. Keeping eye contact with Phil the entire time, Steve uses both hands to pop open all of the buttons before pushing it off of his shoulders and pulling his arms through. He leaves the shirt there as he leans back down to kiss him again, tracing his hands over the planes of his chest.

Phil is a well cut man, thank the gods. He's one of the most attractive that Steve's been with, even if his hairline is a bit farther back than most (Steve has no idea how old he is; for all he knows he's taking pills to make him look younger and is eighty-something). Steve's type is generally anyone who's not a business man, and he knows that Phil isn't. Businessmen don't wear classic suits, let alone to places like this, and they're never shy. He's probably a sort of policeman. Maybe he likes the Men in Black look. Are there sunglasses in his pocket? Probably not, but it's a fun thought nonetheless.

He lightly twists one of his Phil's nipples, earning a whimper.

He pulls his mouth away from Phil's lips and trails them down his jaw line until he's at the crook of his neck, darting his tongue out between soft kisses. "These too?" he breathes, tugging at one of the belt loops.

Phil nods, breathing harder.

Just as Steve is dragging his hands down Phil's chest with his fingers splayed out, there's a knock on the door.

Steve let's out a feral growl at the interruption before sighing and turning back to Phil. "At the same time that it sucks that I have to get that," he says, pressing a kiss to Phil's nose, "it does dock a bit from the amount you have to pay, so it's also rather nice."

He crawls off from the side of the bed, forcing himself not to laugh when Phil sits up and grabs the pillow to block himself from sight of the door. He won't be seen anyway, though, even without the pillow. Steve's not going to fling open the door as far as it can go or anything.

He puts on a glare and opens it by just a few inches, glaring even deeper when he sees it's one of the Chitauri. He hasn't been here _quite_ long enough to tell exactly who it is (they actually have names, oddly enough). That takes a few years with more interaction than he's let himself have. Loki has to interact with them all the time and therefore knows them all, Natasha has been here so long that she can tell which is which just by their voices (which wouldn't be a feat with any other species, but the Chitauri all sound _the exact same_), and Clint interacts with a certain few very constantly because they all get drinks together when he's off request duty (how he managed to become friends with them, Steve will never know).

"What do you want?" he snaps. "I'm with a client."

"I'm here to inform you that you have twenty minutes until a scheduled appointment," he says in English.

"Wha—a scheduled appointment? I was never told about this and it didn't show up in my EC." Electronic calendars are very helpful. They're on the wall of both his bedrooms, not to mention he can access them from the electronic devices held in places throughout the main room. The one he usually uses is behind the bar counter since he works in there so often. "I'm going to need more than twenty minutes. Tell him to either wait until I'm done or to reschedule."

"And if he chooses to wait, sir?" Some of the Chitauri really aren't all that unpleasant in the way they treat others; it's just their appearance that is so repulsive. That is a very few, though, so Steve just tends to assume he doesn't want to get to know any of them.

"Tell him it will be at least sixty minutes," he mutters.

The Chitauri nods before walking away.

"Ugh," Steve says, closing the door "What a species."

"The Chitauri?" Phil asks from behind him.

"Yes," he says, locking it before beginning to turn back around. "Some can be alright, but for the most part they…" He trails off, eyes landed on Phil. He's still holding the pillow in front of it, legs drawn up to wrap around it to hold it up while both of his arms are hiding behind it as well. Just the top half of his face is showing and the hands holding onto the top, giving the appearance of a frightened child.

Steve smiles warmly at him. "Are you hiding?" he asks quietly.

Phil blushes a little and ducks his head. "No," he mutters.

Steve gives a laugh, and Phil seems to burry himself even further. "I'm not making fun of you," he says, stripping himself of his underwear without Phil looking so he can surprise him. He loves doing that. "I think it's cute." He crawls back onto the bed and sits in front of him, wrapping his legs around him and the pillow.

Phil looks up about as much as he was just at first, with his hands holding onto the top. "Really?" He shakes his head before Steve can answer. "Wait, no, don't answer that."

Steve pushes the pillow down so that he can see his whole face and kisses him, both hands holding onto the sides of his face. "But I meant it," he whispers, dropping one hand and mouthing along that side of Phil's neck. "You're cute."

"I…" Phil begins, but cuts himself off. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"Of course," Steve says, pulling away to give him a warm smile. "Now, about those pants."

Phil smiles at him before kissing him hard, arms flinging themselves around Steve's neck. Steve goes with it happily, shifting around so that his legs are out from behind Phil and they can lie back down again. He pulls the pillow away and tucks it back behind Phil's head before kissing him softly.

He resumes what he was doing before the Chitauri knocked on the door, splaying his fingers out and dragging them down Phil's chest. He paws at him through his pants, pulling forth a breathy little moan from Phil's throat. Steve smiles against his lips and pops open the button before dragging the zipper down, pulling his face back to give him a seductive smile.

Phil gives a warm smile back, glances down for a split second, looking back up at Steve with that perfect smile, and then his entire face seems to freeze. He looks slowly back down, eyes trained between their legs.

"Oh," he chokes out. "When did those come off?"

Steve forces back some of his laughter, but he does allow some of it out. "When you were hiding behind the pillow."

Phil blushes a bit, looking back up. "Alright, so maybe I was hiding. Not the point. The point is my pants are not off yet and you are _hot_."

Steve grins. "We better fix that, then." He sets right back to what he was doing, shifting hips and legs around until the dress pants are off before folding them and dropping them onto Phil's other clothes. In the process he remembers that the button-up is still laying open on the bed, so he coaxes it out from under Phil before folding and dropping it down as well.

Phil pulls him down and kisses him hard before he can get to the boxer briefs he has on (are those hearts? How classic), weaving the fingers of one hand into Steve's and letting the other hand grip onto his side again.

Steve pulls their lips away and smiles down at him. "Nervous?" he asks.

"No," Phil says, but Steve knows it's a lie.

He tilts his head a little. "I want to see you," he whispers, kissing him softly. He knows Phil wants to hear it, and hey, he really does want to, so it's perfect. "Taste you…" he breathes.

Phil shudders a little, tightening the grips on both his hands. "Fine," he breathes back. It's sort of a mixture between a passive sort of fine and also a whining fine, in which he's still nervous about it but he doesn't care _too_ much. He's just not used to it. But he's here, so he's ready for it, and Steve loves being that person for people. He gets people who are looking for someone who is…sweet and good at what they do…to lose their virginity to, even. Steve loves that. Not like he owns whoever comes, but so he knows that it's good for them. Someone who can do it right and make it seem like they care. Steve's of course just doing his job, and he hates it, but not the people that come to him. The clients can actually be rather nice. And Phil is _very_ nice. Steve loves the nervous ones. They're far more genuine than the others, and Steve has the most fun making them feel good and turning their nervousness into confidence.

Steve kisses him softly on the lips before trailing down his chin…his neck…his chest… He nibbles at a nipple, pulling a breathing sort of "aahh" from Phil's throat before continuing on. He lingers above his stomach, tongue tracing around his naval, and drags his nose through the thin trail of hair before pulling lightly at the elastic with his teeth. He glances up at Phil to see what he's thinking, but the man has his head dropped back and is looking at the ceiling instead. Steve suppresses a laugh, because that's actually a lot easier to read than someone's eyes. That way it's just downright obvious that he likes it.

He pulls away so he can hook his two index fingers into the sides of his underwear. "Lifts your hips," he says.

Phil looks back down as he does, and Steve does what he knows Phil wants by not looking down yet and instead keeping his eyes on Phil's face. He knows his cock has sprung free because he feels the bounce, plus the added Phil glancing away from himself and up at Steve.

Steve grins warmly at him, pulling them off and tossing them onto the ground. He doesn't fold those. Even he's not going to fold underwear. He leans back down, their eyes locked, and darts his tongue out, flicking it against the head.

Maybe Phil can keep a straight face when he's working, or when he's first meeting somebody, but at that touch he's so far from straight faced it's not even funny—it's just beautiful. He drops his head back again as Steve continues to pleasure him, licking him flat up the bottom and swirling around the head and sucking him down to the hilt.

Steve hasn't _looked_ at Phil yet, but he can tell what he looks like with his mouth. He's been doing this long enough that it's easy. He's not as big or as wide as Steve himself, but then again there are about zero people his size anyway. He's bigger for his body size, though, which is always something to be proud of. Steve honestly doesn't care about size, to be honest. The smaller they are the easier blowjobs are. Both genders tend to make such a big deal about it, but he's got a feeling the entire world population feels about the same as he does.

Phil pushes him away a few moments later, panting hard, eyes closed. "Not yet," he chokes out. "I want you inside of me."

Steve smiles at him, crawling up the bed so he can reach over to the nightstand and snatch up the bottle of lube there. "Know how many fingers you want before I go in?" he asks.

Phil purses his lips. "Uh…two?"

Steve gives a little snort and coats four. Phil has no idea what he's talking about. He'd almost just do three, but Steve has a feeling that Phil isn't the type of guy who likes a little sting—not yet, anyway, after being sexually deprived for so long (he assumes it's been at least six months or more the way he's been going on about it).

He shifts over to Phil's side before reaching between his legs, circling the entrance a few times. "Breathe in," he says.

Phil grips onto the sheets and takes a deep breath, and Steve pushes in a single finger, pushing in slowly until he's about halfway up the digit.

"Breathe out."

Phil does, hands still gripping onto the sheets. Steve untangles one and weaves their fingers together instead, holding tight so Phil knows he can squeeze as hard as he needs to. He stretches him thoroughly, kissing him softly wherever his lips can reach as he does—including a few times on the head of his cock. He almost brings him to orgasm twice just by that (so if he ever comes back, yeah, he'll probably want a little sting), too.

"Do you want to be on your back or down on your hands and knees when we start?" he asks, grabbing up the lube again.

Phil sits up. "Hands and knees," he says. "It always hurt less that way after I haven't done this in a while."

_He's always been a submitter, then_, Steve thinks. _Good to know._

"How long has it been, then?" he asks, motioning for Phil to do as he wants.

Phil gives an embarrassed grin as he does, looking back over his shoulder. "One year and four months."

Steve blinks once before giving a lopsided grin. "Well, you've come to the right place." He presses his non-lubed hand against the middle of Phil's back. "Arch your back down so it arches your ass _up_."

Phil snorts, doing so. "Just because I haven't had sex in over a year doesn't mean I forgot how to do it."

Steve gives a warm laugh. "Just in case, baby. Just in case." He coats himself with the lube before capping the bottle and tossing into the pile of his own clothes on the floor, pushing up into a kneeling position. Just a few months ago they would have _had _to use protection in case of STDs (or the fact that some male species can get pregnant as well as the female), but then there came a revolutionary shot that not only makes it impossible for you to get an STD, but if you've already got one it makes it go away so that it can't be transferred to those that didn't get the shot. It was mandatory for every member in the world to get it at an easy to pay cost (even easier because most insurance plans covered it), though some managed to slip through the cracks. _Why_ they would want to, Steve doesn't know. He doesn't need to ask Phil if he has it, because Steve got it right when it came out—besides, someone as well-kept as Phil probably got it the day it came out as well. He does, on the other hand, need to ask for pregnancy purposes…

"Before I do this," he says, "I've got to quick ask you what species you are."

"In case I can get pregnant, yes, that makes sense," Phil says without hinder. "I'm simply human but for…well, the obvious. Nothing I'll get pregnant with."

Steve smiles. "Good. Deep breath."

Phil does, and Steve swirls his cockhead around the entrance once before pushing in slowly—_slowly_—until his length is halfway in.

"Breathe out," he says.

Phil does, loosening just the tiniest bit. He's tight. Steve is glad he used four fingers instead of three.

"Steady breathing," Steve says, beginning to push in some more as Phil does. "In and out." Steve steadies himself, holding light against Phil's hips. He usually doesn't have to stop and breathe when doing this, but something about Phil is just so…perfect. He's never felt it before. What do the other "girls" call it? A Pornstitute Colnection? He's pretty sure it's supposed to be a spin-off of "porn collection" and "prostitute connection", but it's never come up for himself so he's never really paid attention. It's when the dancer gets feelings for the client instead of the other way around.

He pulls out again a moment later, up to the head, before pushing slowly all the way back in just once more. Then he picks up a bit of speed, giving a pleasant smile when Phil moans into the pillow and rocks back against him.

Once Steve is sure that Phil is ready, he manages to say (he's never had to _manage_ before; he could just easily say it. It's odd), "Want to stay in this position, or you wanna move?"

"Move," Phil grunts.

"How?"

"Flip."

Steve knows what he means, pulling out just long enough to flip Phil over before pushing inside again. He's puts his hands down beside Phil's sides and leans down to kiss him. Phil is dragging his nails down Steve's back and Steve is pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer if he wasn't so good at this, their kisses messy and full of wild tongues and wet lips.

"Again," Phil moans. "Your back."

Steve wraps his arms tightly around Phil and begins to lean up and backwards until Phil is on top. He lets go when they're settled and moving, his hands to gripping onto his hips.

Phil moans as he pumps himself up and down, splaying his fingers out and bracing his hands against Steve's chest. "Bruise me," he whimpers.

Steve grips tighter to his hips, helping Phil move at the same time he bucks up and down. The harder Steve holds to his hips, the harder he moans.

Steve decides now is as good a time as any, and he angles himself just right so that he'll hit Phil's prostate. The face of surprise that comes onto Phil's face is absolutely hilarious, but Steve just grins at it. He always just grins when he hits that in the males. Some of his clients make the most hilarious faces that Steve has ever seen (Phil's isn't the worst, but that's just because he's cute) and he has to force himself not to laugh outright at them.

Phil loses it a moment later, pressing himself down hard as he comes. Most of Steve's clients close their eyes and tilts their heads back, but Phil _opens_ his eyes and tilts his head _forward_. And those eyes are so blue and so dark and so _open_ to everything inside of him, wanting to pour itself out after being held in so tightly.

And Steve falls. A few years without a number, a few years with, and those years combined of waiting tables in little more than boots and a skirt. All those men—those women—those without specific genders… And this is the one that Steve falls for. He wishes he could say something along the lines of "this one? _This_ one? He's nothing special! He's probably even not the same age as you!" but he can't. Instead he wants to grab his sketch book and make sure he remembers that face for the rest of his life. He's never wanted that. He's never wanted a client before. Never…

He loses it seconds after Phil does, doing exactly what his clients always do. Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, letting out a moan that rivals any he's ever given before.

Phil leans down and rests his forehead against Steve's when they're both spent, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Steve wraps his arms tightly around Phil's back and rolls them over carefully, pulling out with a soft _pop_. Phil wraps his arms lazily around Steve's neck and buries himself against him, breath slowing quietly.

"Phil?" Steve asks at length, arms still around him. "You okay?"

Phil sighs against him. Not exactly a sad sigh, more just a sigh to let out a lot of air at once after a deep breath. "I think so."

Steve rubs his thumb up and down his spine (he _loves_ spines, always has. They fascinate him to no end, and if he ever had a choice in the bedroom he'd spend some of the time mapping it out over whoever would let him), holding him a little bit tighter. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm fine. I just haven't done that in a while."

Steve gives an affectionate smile even though Phil can't see it. _Especially_ because Phil can't see it. He's not supposed to get attached… "Liar."

"It's nothing."

Steve knows he's not supposed to push his clients for anything. He learned that years ago. Sometimes he pushes them anyway, though, because he knows that they want him to. This, on the other hand, he can tell does not want to be pushed.

"Whatever you say," he whispers, kissing him softly. He unwraps his arms from him and looks down at him, giving him a warm smile. "Can I ask you a question?" Subject change. Always a good idea.

Phil cocks an eyebrow. "I suppose."

"It might be personal."

"It might be."

Steve gives a good natured eye roll before kissing his nose. "Just hit me if it offends you." He leans back up. "Is it…_just_ your eye?"

Phil blinks at him twice before bursting into laughter. "Cap, buddy, questions about that stopped offending me _years_ ago. Now they're just routine. No, it's not just my eye."

Steve is actually pretty sure he blushes as he ducks his head and breathes a laugh. "I'm just glad you're alright with it. What other parts?"

"My left arm from the shoulder down and my spine."

Steve stares at him. "Y-your spine?"

He cocks both eyebrows. "Yeah. My spinal cord? You know, that thing that—"

Steve silences him with a kiss. "That is so hot," he says, leaning back up again and pushing a hand through his hair to keep himself breathing.

Phil gives an unsure laugh, tilting his head in confusion. "Guilty pleasure?"

He shrugs, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed "You could say that. Want something to drink? You get a pass for one glass after every private dance."

Phil snorts, pushing at him to get off of the bed. "I'll be fine."

Steve picks up all of Phil's clothes and sets them on the bed, giving him a warm smile before going to gather up his own things. "I hate these gloves," he says as he pulls them on after everything else is. Phil's still got a bit to go though, what with both tops and all those buttons.

"I understand that," Phil says, putting on his shoes. "They really don't look that comfortable."

"It's not that they're not comfortable, I just don't much enjoy having gloves on. Gives me this weird feeling all in my hands and I have to shake them to make it go away. Looks sort of awkward, but I've managed to just make it look like it belongs if I'm in the show at the beginning of the night."

"Oh, you're in those?"

He shrugs. "Only sometimes. I usually just sing old songs to give the effect that America's old and has always been there for us. That's what I'm told it means, anyway."

Phil laughs. "Good. I like old songs."

Steve gives him a smile as he straightens out his tie. When did that get there? Phil must have taken it off before he got into the room. Odd that Steve didn't notice. "I don't think you like them as old as I'm talking about."

"Try me."

"The nineteen forties."

Phil snorts. "Alright, you got me." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, still chuckling a bit. "What sort of payments do you take?"

Steve frowns. He forgot all about him having to pay. It seemed far too real for him to have to pay… "Any type," he says.

"And how much?"

He frowns again, looking up at the device on the wall that records how much is to be paid. Instead of pointing it out or telling him what it says, though, he simply smiles and tells him the starting price.

Phil notices with a wrinkle of his nose. "But that's just what I pay to get in."

"I know," Steve says quietly, handing him a pen after he pulls out a checkbook. It's a rather nice pen made just for him, with ink that writes in a pattern of letters from red to blue. There'd be white, too, but that would be difficult to read on paper.

Phil stares at him for a moment that seems like an eternity before shaking his head and taking the pen, writing down the price. "Thank you," he whispers, handing the pen back.

Steve smiles. "What can I say?" he asks, taking the check once it's torn out as well. "I like you."

Phil looks like he almost falls over. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve quick rolls his eyes. "Come on, babe," he says, putting the pen aside and the check into a slot that sends it to where all payments are sent. "Let's go get you a glass of water."

**OoOoOoO**

_CLINT  
21:38…_

Clint always did believe in love at first sight, he just knew it was never going to happen to him. How do you fall in love when you're forced to stay in a place like this? But then he walked onto the stage and _saw him_. He would have continued to hang about, flirting around, during the four other singing shows that were going to follow, and then announcing between each one who was next, but when he saw him…he couldn't wait.

He says his name is Bruce. It rolled off of his tongue like sugar, spice, and everything nice. He never does that. Most of "the girls" give out their real names freely even though they're not supposed to, but Clint never does. If anyone is going to scream his name in bed they can scream his show name. Steve gives it out to the ones he can tell will feel better if they know it, Natasha usually gives out her old name (Natalia), and Loki doesn't really talk to anyone to give it out in the first place. Whoever gets him just gets to scream incoherent syllables unless they're actually going to try to get "Prince of Frost" or "God of Fire" out.

Bruce is…well, Clint's favorite descriptive word for him right now would be "adorable". He spotted him when he was first going across the stage, sitting in the front chairs with the attractive fellow Natasha just kissed and a large (but equally attractive) bloke with flowing locks of gold. Clint, being a Se Igennem, knew what Bruce was the moment his eyes raked passed him. That was the first hook. Clint loves danger, and what better way to be in the thick of it than to be with a Rage Monster?

Then he really looked at him, though… Short (but longer than his own) brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a pair of clear contacts in (nobody wears those anymore; there are implants that will make you have twenty/twenty vision instead). Clint also noticed purple pants, and who on any earth these days wears purple pants like that? Maybe some teenager, but nobody who comes to a strip club.

Then Bruce noticed the staring. Once eye contact was made it couldn't be broken, though Clint could tell Bruce didn't know what to do about it. He sensed all sorts of emotions, some being confusion, anxiousness, and maybe even a little bit of fright.

So then Clint tossed his microphone to Skurge (he's a killer on the drums) with a flick of his wrist and walked straight over to Bruce. The fact that the man was shaking a bit and the way that time seemed to slow was perfect.

Now Clint has his hand in his and has pulled him along to his private dance room, looking into the retinal scan (with his left eye half green and half orange and his right half yellow and half pink; this way nobody can fake it—not even the others of his species, because they don't know his pattern). Steve gets into his room by an old fashioned lock and key, Natasha's is a thumb print, and Loki's is simply a three-digit key code. It says both his show names on his door, so _nobody_ messes with it. Everybody knows that Loki is the best and therefore his room is guarded the most. It's not, but that's because Loki's got a whole different room to himself. He doesn't give a shit if his private show room is destroyed, nor if he's walked in on when he's with a client. He doesn't really care about anything anymore. He's too broken to care…

The minute that the door is shut behind them, Clint takes Bruce by the shoulders and pushes him back up against it, kissing him hard. Usually he does that at the beginning to make the client think he's in command, and that way they're rougher back to him.

Tonight is supposed to be his one night out of the entire week that his requests are closed, meaning he gets a day off from faking his way through enjoying _every_ bit of the time he spends with his clients (sure, orgasms are great, but they get tiring when they're not with people he actually enjoys the company of; most of the time he only comes maybe twice in the night unless he's paid extra for it; poor Loki actually has to take pills to get hard almost every time, too, since he always dominates).

When he saw Bruce, though…gods, he couldn't resist. The Other won't care. It's his day off and he can do what he wants with it as long as it doesn't involve leaving.

"Mmm, lucky me," he says, kissing messily down Bruce's throat before sucking.

Bruce gives a surprised moan. "What do you mean?" he asks, gripping tightly to Clint's sides.

Clint leans away to smile brightly at him. "You're exactly what I want!" He kisses him hard, nipping at his bottom lip.

Bruce gives another of the same moan, sliding his hands around to squeeze at Clint's ass. "I still…don't get it."

Clint pulls away to roll his eyes a little, taking a few steps back before grabbing the front of Bruce's long sleeve button-up and yanking him forward, spinning him over towards the bed. "We're soul mates, silly!" He says, leaping over and pressing himself up against him, puffing his chest out against the other mans.

Bruce sputters a little. "So-soul mates?"

Clint pouts out his bottom lip. "Don't try to deny it, Brucey-kins. I saw your face." He gets rid of the pout and smiles brightly. "Even if you don't believe in love at first sight, I can prove that we're perfect."

Now Bruce just glows confused. "I think I lost track of what exactly you were talking about.

Clint laughs, crawling up Bruce's body, light as a feather, and wrapping his legs around Bruce's waist so that his feet are against the bed. "I _like_ you," he says, holding him tight and breathing in the scent of his hair. Lavender? Lovely. "I _want_ you. I want you to stay with me."

Bruce stiffens a little, hands reaching around to hold Clint up. "You don't know anything about me," he whispers.

"On the contrary," Clint says, crawling back down and tugging at Bruce's dark grey shirt until it comes un-tucked from his pants. "I know quite a lot."

Bruce frowns. "Like _what_?"

Clint smirks. "I'm a Se Igennem. I know what you are and I know what you're feeling because _my eyes_ can do _anything_."

Bruce looks and feels terrified for a moment before he softens a little and becomes confused. "You know what I am and you're still doing this?"

Clint smiles and nods before going in to kiss his neck and pushing his hands up and under his shirt. "I've always wanted one of your kind," he says. "And when I saw you I knew that _you_ were the specific one I wanted." He pulls his hands back out and reaching up to the top of Bruce's shirt to start unbuttoning it.

Bruce slides his hands around some more until they're sneaking into the back of Clint's pants, fingers splaying out over his ass cheeks. "Bu-but why? Why would you want one of _my_ kind?"

Clint giggles, wiggling his ass for Bruce's benefit. "Because I'm in love with _danger_," he whispers.

Bruce freezes, and Clint pulls away just enough to see what he's feeling. That's when he knows he's done something wrong. Bruce is red with anger. Not anger enough to hulk out, but just the initial "_excuse_ me?" sort.

"_I'm sorry_," he tries to say, but Bruce cuts him off:

"We're not dangerous," he growls, yanking his hands out of Clint's pants and pushing him away. "We have _feelings_, even." He pushes away from the bed, stalking towards the door.

"No!" Clint says, leaping over to him. "Stay, Brucey," he whispers, swinging in front of him and holding onto both of his shoulders. "My pop was the same way; I know how to control it. Not completely, but there's a spot on all of you that will make you stop before it gets bad enough." He lifts his chin up and nuzzles at Bruce's cheek. "Please stay. I want you. You're so…" He smiles, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck and breathing out happily. "Beautiful."

Bruce is silent for a moment. Clint wishes he could read minds so bad. All he knows is that Bruce is confused and conflicted.

He says, at length, "What do you mean 'a spot'?"

Clint gives a sigh of relief. "It's kind of like a spot where a mama cat would hold her kitten."

"Where?"

He grins, dropping both arms to just rub two fingers back and forth across the back of his neck. "The same spot as a kitten," he whispers into his ear, darting his tongue out against the lobe.

Bruce gives a shudder before gripping tight to Clint's sides and shoving him up against the door, even lifting him from the ground a little.

"See?" Clint asks, dropping his hand away and going back to unbuttoning the dark grey shirt. He would have continued, but if you do it long enough it will just put them to sleep. He's never done it to that extent before, but he saw his mom do it tons of times to his dad before Clint…ran away. "All better."

"We're not dangerous," Bruce mutters, rubbing his nose up and down Clint's jaw line. "We just…need somebody to take care of us right. I have some friends I came with, and I'm not dangerous with them because they know how to treat me."

"Mmm, yeah?" He pops the last button, glad to see that there's no t-shirt underneath it. "Can I be one of your friends, Brucey? You can introduce me and we can all make fun of the other dancers together."

"Yeah, alright," Bruce hums, unconsciously pulling Clint's hand back to his neck. Clint laughs, leaning in to kiss him hard, refusing to do any rubbing.

"You're so pretty," Bruce says, fingering at the feathers around Clint's own neck.

Clint smirks, pushing him back towards the bed. "Want me, Brucey? Want me hot and heavy in your hands?"

Bruce grips onto the blankets behind him and looks down at the floor, the feeling of trying to settle himself glowing around him.

Clint slides over to him, slipping his hand down to the belt of his jeans and unbuckling it to toss it to the ground. Bruce holds onto Clint's hips as he pops the button and drags down the zipper, resting his forehead against the top of Bruce's head as he looks down. Clint smirks and leans away as he hooks his fingers into the two side belt loops, and Bruce doesn't even have time to look up before he yanks his pants down, dropping to the floor with them. He leans forward and nuzzles at Bruce's groin, pulling out that same little surprised moan that Clint is really beginning to love.

"Mmm, you smell good," Clint hums, pulling his nose away and instead pressing his lips to the boxers, mouthing at Bruce's manhood.

The man lets out a moan that shoots all the way to Clint's toes, and one of his hands pushes through Clint's hair.

Clint leans away and smiles up at him, licking his lips. "Stay there," he says. When Bruce nods he sets to work on untying his shoes before pulling them off, and then Bruce lifts one foot at a time so that Clint can toss his pants aside as well. He winks before pulling his own boots off, wishing he could get some new ones. These zippers are starting to stick.

"Want me, Brucey?" Clint asks again, going back down on his knees.

Bruce breathes heavy as Clint reaches up to drag his fingers just inside of the elastic of his boxers. "Yeah," he breathes, hands gripping against the covers again.

"Mmm, how much?"

Before Bruce can answer, though, Clint yanks down his boxers and licks up the underside of his length, pulling another surprised moan out. Clint has never had so much _fun_ before! He pulls away to get a good look at the cock jutting out of dark curls before him, licking his lips again. Never before did Clint think he would find one to match even Steve's size, but here it is. It's probably about the same in length, but the width is simply _stunning_.

The only reason Clint knows exactly how big Steve can get is because they've slept together. In fact, all four of Clint, Steve, Natasha, and Loki have interchanged and jumped around in multiple patterns. The only romantic one was between Clint and Natasha (for _maybe_ three weeks before they shrugged it off and quit), though. There was Loki and Natasha after Clint and her broke up, but that was simply because they were bored and Loki needed the dominance; Clint knows there's a reason for his power lust, and not a very pretty one. All three of them slept with Steve when he first showed up to help him "learn the ropes". Natasha taught him how to sleep with a woman, Loki taught him what it's like to be dominated, and Clint taught him what it's like to _be_ the dominant. Then there were the other things from any of the other "girls", like his failed attempts at dancing pole and then Natasha's squeals through the entire establishment when she found he could sing the oldies like a god.

Clint leans forward again and licks at the head, lapping up precum as Bruce's hands finally let go of the blankets and tangle themselves into Clint's hair. Not that he has much hair to tangle in since he keeps it short, but Bruce does his best. He sucks in on the head, swirling his tongue around, before bobbing his head up and down, pulling him back a little deeper every time. Bruce lets out a breathy little moan every few seconds, holding tightly to Clint's head but doing his best not to just fuck his mouth like an animal. Clint would love it, though. Gods, what he would do to be treated like an animal. Maybe Bruce will tie him up…

He reaches around to his back and unclips his top as he sucks Bruce down, tossing it to the side. His black leather bottoms are clipped to garters at his thighs, a purple feather sticking out here and there among the sparkles and frills. He thinks his preference for men over women is a given, but some chicks dig this sorta stuff (black nail polish and "guy liner"…that sort stuff) and he gets them as well. Sure, he likes women too, heavy on the chest and slick between the legs, but for the most part it means he's got to be the dominant, and he would _much_ rather whimper for a man's cock to fill him like his bitch.

Clint would give anything to suck on a ball or two, or at least hold them, but he knows if he does he won't be able to stop, and he doesn't want Bruce to be done with just a blowjob. He wants him hot and heavy inside of him, pumping and panting above him.

Bruce whimpers when Clint pulls away from him, pushing his hands through his hair in a silent plea.

Clint smirks up at him. "You want me, Brucey?" He leans back on his hands, showing off his bare chest. Dancing both pole and cage and having sex so often really tones a guy, and who doesn't like to show off a six-pack? "Want me begging for you?"

Clint instantly sees the glow of conflicted feelings, and not for if he wants that or not, but if he's supposed to say yes so they can get up on the bed or just take him on the rug (Clint got to pick it out himself, so of course it's the softest thing you _ever_ did walk on).

Clint decides to help him out, dropping even further onto the ground so that he's lying instead of leaning. "Take me, baby," he breathes, arching a knee up and reaching his arms up to twine his hands up above his head. "I want to feel you all _over_."

Bruce takes that as the proper invitation it is, dropping down and above him, one knee at his side and the other between his legs, hands on either sides of Clint's head. He leans down to kiss him hard, and Clint traces his fingers over the planes of his chest, marveling over its own toning. Who _knows_ what _he_ does to keep it that way. Actually, Clint would love to know…

He nips at Bruce's lips and gives a playful little growl, grinning up at him. "Know what's really great about these bottoms of mine?" he whispers, taking a hold of one of Bruce's hands and leading it down to his hip. "Zippers on both sides. That means you can unzip 'em and both pieces just…fall away."

Bruce gives the most confident look he's given all night: a smirk to rival _any_ of Clint's, even licking his lips. "Mine would have just ripped off, so _I_ have an extra pair in my pocket."

Clint blinks at him before laughing. "Did you just make a joke about being a Rage Monster?" he asks.

Bruce grins. "We prefer giant, evil, apocalyptic stuffed animals."

Clint leans up and kisses him softly yet urgently before dropping back to the floor. "You're sent to me from the gods, I know it. Get me out these things, dammit."

Bruce lets out a shaky breath as he crawls backwards, easily locating the two zippers and pulling them slowly down. He tosses the top piece aside and just looks for a moment. Clint knows he's a good size, he just knows that Bruce is bigger. He's about to tell him to come back up to him, but instead he's taken by surprise when Bruce leans down and sucks in on the head. Clint has never sat up so fast in his entire life, eyes wide and legs spread even wider.

"_Oh_," he chokes out. He's always seen when that's coming. He's _never_ missing an intension before. It's in his _species_. He's not _supposed_ to.

Bruce hums a little in laughter as he goes down even further, probably unaware that the humming makes it even more pleasurable. He goes down all the way to the hilt without even choking, so obviously he's done this before. Clint's never been bothered by that thought before, but it bothers him now. He has nothing to be bothered by, considering that he himself usually ends up with at least six or eight people a night. It wouldn't be fair.

Clint didn't want Bruce to lose it in his mouth, nor does he want to lose himself in Bruce's. "Bruce. Bruce, baby, you're gonna—aahh."

Bruce pulls away at the moan, wiping his mouth of excess spit. "_Gods_ I want you."

Clint take a deep breath to steady himself a little more before smiling at him, reaching down and pulling the back piece of his bottoms away to toss them over with all the other clothes. "I have wanted to hear that aaall night long." He crawls forward and straddles Bruce's waist, leaning him back against the bed. Bruce gasps a little at the open contact, gripping onto Clint's hips.

"Bed or floor?" Clint asks. He was just going to have Bruce take him on the floor right away, but after the part-blowjob it messed up his plan a bit. Bruce moans as Clint bounces a bit and leans his head forward to nip at whatever parts of his chest that his teeth can get a hold of.

"Floor," he chokes out. "We can grab the pillow for you."

Clint stands up just long enough to do that and also the bottle of lube on the nightstand, his manhood jutting out in front of Bruce's face, to which he's ready for the little lick that Bruce darts out at him. He drops back down, grinding his ass against Bruce's cock and his own cock against his stomach.

"Beg for me, Brucey-kins," Clint says, holding up the bottle of lube to show him what he wants. "Beg to stretch me."

The next thing Clint knows is that he's being pinned to the floor, bottle snatched and dangling above his face. "No," he says. "_You_ beg."

Clint lets out an unabashed moan at the idea as Bruce uncaps the bottle and slicks three of his fingers.

"No," Clint says, stopping him by grabbing his wrist. "Just two." Bruce tilts his head a little, but Clint just grins. "I want the sting."

Bruce nods in understanding as he crawls back to sit with his legs beneath him on the floor at the bottom of Clint, bending Clint's knees up and propping his feet on his spread knees.

Clint giggles. "Oh, you _do_ know what you're doing!"

Bruce gives a full laugh, circling his entrance with two slicked fingers to shut him up. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm uneducated," he says, pushing his index finger up to the first knuckle.

Clint lets out a tiny moan, wishing he _was_ uneducated. Those are always the cutest ones, looking shyly around for someone who won't make fun of them for not knowing all of what they're doing. That's what Clint thought Bruce was when he first saw him, but obviously he was very wrong.

"I've had my fair share of shared nights," Bruce continues, wiggling and twisting his finger to go in a little deeper.

Clint honestly doesn't want to hear about that. He's sure it's fascinating, he just…doesn't want to think about it. He reaches down and grabs Bruce's hand, pulling it just right that his finger shoves all the way inside of him. He moans, closing his eyes so he can't see Bruce's face or feelings. The one thing he's not able to see through is himself.

Bruce stops talking after that, probably for the simple reason that after that he forgot about whatever it was he was saying. He stretches Clint as thoroughly as he can with two fingers when it should probably be four considering Bruce's width, but Clint knows he'll be fine. First off he _likes_ the sting, second he's usually generally well stretched from all the other sex he' has.

"Just wipe your hand on the rug or reach for the blanket," Clint says, rolling the lube bottle over to him. "I want you inside of me, baby."

Bruce nods and shifts around to position them both, swinging both of Clint's legs over his shoulders. He quick lathers himself up before reaching down to put himself into place, watching Clint's face carefully as he starts to push in.

Clint easily masks his face at the first initial pain and discomfort of the filling, but when Bruce just holds it there for a moment he tilts his head a little. "What is it?" Clint asks. "Is something wrong?"

Bruce smiles. "Nothing, it's just…" He breathes a laugh, looking down at their coupling. "Nothing."

Clint is about to tell him to tell him anyway, but Bruce pushes in a little more instead. Clint's good at this, though, so he knows just what to do to hear it anyway.

"Won't you tell me?" he asks, pushing back against Bruce to push him deeper still.

Bruce moans before saying simply, "No."

"Please, Bru—aahh!"

Bruce smirks around his breathy moan at Clint's reply to his deepest thrust yet, putting him in as far as he can. "No," he says again.

Clint grins back at him, flexing his legs around his shoulders. "Please, baby?" he whimpers, reaching up to rub his thumb across Bruce's cheek. "Tell me?"

Instead of saying yes or no, he simply doesn't answer. Clint would love to keep pushing at it, but instead Bruce does some pulling, stopping with just his head still inside. Clint gives a whimper at the emptiness that is cut off with a deep moan when Bruce pushes back inside. Full conversations cease then, constant moans and breaths filling the void it leaves. Clint knows he's a loud lover, only quiet when specifically told to be. That happens virtually _never_, of course, considering that most of his clients _like_ the noise. Clint's always loud, but the more he likes those he's with the more actual words he says. Needless to say, he speaks with Bruce a _lot_. Calling him Bruce, Brucey-kins, and baby, among other things. Telling him "right there" and "don't stop" and "harder".

Bruce, on the other hand, definitely isn't quiet, he's just…_not_ wordy. Loud moans and heavy breathing and bruising fingertips let Clint know that he absolutely loves the feelings (not to mention the fact that his body is glowing some of the brightest yellow Clint has ever seen in his life; it's a good thing he's so used to all the colors that he sees right through those as if they weren't even there as well), there are just no coherent words to it. Clint's perfectly fine with it that way. In fact, he sort of likes it better. When the other person talks their words clash, not to mention Clint does enough talking for the both of them and therefore doesn't need his help filling the room anyway.

"Hey," Bruce says.

Clint opens his eyes in surprise. "Hmm?" he says.

Bruce smirks once before giving a subtle shift in angle, hitting his prostate and causing Clint to see stars.

"Gods, _yes_!" Clint screams, dropping his head back. He begs for it again, Bruce denying him twice with a grin before giving in.

He usually doesn't want his cock touched at all during sex if it doesn't have to be, but when Bruce reaches to it and starts to pump…gods, he's never wanted anything more. He comes over his own chest and Bruce's hand in a flourish, Bruce pumping into him two more hard times before coming as well.

He pushes Clint's legs off of his shoulders and pulls out with a soft _pop_ before lying down on the rug beside him, joining him on his back.

"Wow," Clint breathes, reaching around for his clean towel without moving more than his arm. "We have _got_ to do that again sometime."

"Yeah," Bruce breathes back, watching Clint rub at his stomach. Loki can just snap his fingers, and Natasha can usually have somebody else come in and clean up whatever _she's_ made since she's never the one that's dirty, considering she doesn't actually have sex with any of her clients. Steve and Clint, though, have to do it themselves the hard way. "How much do I owe you for that…" He grins a little. "Experience."

Clint motions to the electronic device on the wall.

Bruce looks over and instantly glows confused. "It's blank."

"I know," Clint says, rolling to face Bruce so he can clean his own backside. "Today's my day off."

Bruce blinks at him, not looking at all fazed when Clint cleans his hand off of Clint's come with a clean part of the towel. "Off?" he asks.

Clint nods, tossing the towel into his hamper. He usually goes through about ten or so of those a night, but today it'll be just that one. "It means I don't take any requests. So _you_"—he pokes at Bruce's stomach before walking his fingers up to his chest—"are not even considered a client. You're just…" He smiles warmly and splays his fingers out. "Brucey-kins."

Bruce glows yellow as he smiles the same at Clint, reaching up to twine his fingers with the hand on his chest. "So you mean you didn't have to come to me? You did it because you wanted to?"

Clint gives a good natured eye roll. "Obviously. I don't call _everybody_ my soul mate, you know." He leans over and nuzzles against Bruce's neck. "This is different. I love you."

Bruce is silent for a moment. "But even you said we're dangerous. How could you love something like that?"

Clint leans away with his smile. "I told you that too. I'm in love with danger. Besides…" He reaches over with his other hand to rub for a moment at Bruce's neck. "I know where the off button is if I ever get tired of it, remember?"

Bruce gives a little moan of pleasure. Not sexual pleasure, but the sort you get when somebody is giving you a back massage or is playing with your hair. "Yeah, I remember. But _how_ do you know about that? I didn't know about it and it's my own body."

"As far as I know I'm the only one left that knows it. My brother knew, but I…" He swallows. "I don't really know what happened to him," he lies. "My mom's the one that found it out, though. My dad was a…" He smirks. "A giant, evil, apocalyptic stuffed animal, just like you. I'm not sure how she figured it out. It's a very specific spot. Here, sit up."

Bruce does, watching Clint as he gets up as well before crawling over to sit behind him. "You have to pass right over these three points," Clint says, poking each of them individually. "They're in a line, so it should be easy, but it's not. You have to have a certain width of your fingers, which means depending on how thick yours are you'll have to use from one to three fingers. I have average male human fingers, so I need to use two. One wouldn't be wide enough and three would be too wide. Nobody knows about it, because how many of them reach back and rub at their neck with only two fingers? Anyway, you can't do it on yourself, either. Your body won't let you trick yourself."

Bruce turns to smile at him. "That's amazing. Would you be opposed to that knowledge going public?" He turns around all the way and sits crisscrossed, face all lit up like a light. "You see, I'm a scientist, and I study three specific species. One of them is my own. I'm able to pass off as human, so they don't know that I'm technically studying myself. The point is, that's…" He breathes a laugh, looking down and then back up at Clint again. "That's like a scientific breakthrough in this context. A surefire way to calm down the transformation is _huge_. Whoever came up with it would get awards and nominations and money and all sorts of opportunities. I don't want to take that for myself, so maybe you could come with me when I announce it!"

Every bit of excitement inside of Clint falls as Bruce keeps talking:

"Even if you were the one to get all of the recognition I wouldn't care. It's an amazing thing to have kept to yourself after all these years. I'd honestly probably get something simply because I'm the one that brought you forward, but I couldn't care less about that. So…you have today off? I don't know why you're still here, but I'm glad you are. Maybe the next time you're off we can meet up and you can meet my people!" He smiles. "How bad does that sound?"

Clint hates to shoot down a face as happy as his is right now, but he just… It doesn't work that way. So he plasters on a fake smile instead. "Of course you can make it public! But I just couldn't steal your thunder. You can claim it all for yourself."

Bruce frowns. "But I couldn't steal _your_ thunder. I _want_ to give it to you."

Clint shakes his head. "It's fine, honestly. Scientists make me…nervous."

Bruce snorts a little. "And you say _we're_ soul mates? I'm friends with an excellent liar, Clint. Tell me the truth."

Clint wrinkles his nose. "I bet my friend is better at lying than your friend," he says. Loki _thrives_ off lies, most of the time not even for any real purpose but for a reason to laugh (or used to for that purpose, anyway; now his days are simply the routine). For the first two weeks before they were really friends, Loki had convinced him that his name was Jeffery. Apparently Loki's done that to every fellow employee that he's ever met, so whenever somebody mentioned "Loki" and Clint looked confused they'd apologize and say that they _meant_ to say Jeffery. How it lasted an entire two weeks like that, Clint has no idea. He always has been one to fall for things. Everybody else usually just lasted a day or two.

Bruce tilts his head. "Clint."

Clint sighs, looking down. "It's really nothing. I just don't want to go."

Bruce taps his chin to look up at him before motioning for him to come closer, in which Clint gets up to sit straddling his waist and Bruce wraps his arms tightly around his back. "Do scientists really put you on edge?" he whispers into his ear, "or is there something else?"

Clint wants to whimper…cry…breakdown against Bruce's shoulder. He wants to tell him everything. Tell him that he's not allowed to leave unless with guards just to make sure he doesn't leave for good. Tell him that his three best friends (there used to be more than just them four, but more was too hard to handle, so the Chitauri killed the others and kept the best) can't leave either and that Loki has almost died multiple times because he _needs_ the sun and then Natasha is on the opposite spectrum and therefore hasn't been outside of the building even at nightfall since she was two. He wants to tell him all about the time when he…well, maybe not that. But he can't tell him. Not any of it.

"I can't tell you," Clint whispers, resting his cheek against Bruce's shoulder with his face turned towards his neck.

"Why not?" Bruce whispers back.

"Because we'll get in trouble. It's not worth what we'll have to go through to make it out alive."

Bruce bristles a little bit, and Clint subtly rubs his two fingers over his neck. "Am I allowed to guess?" he asks quietly. Not a whisper anymore. He's too clearly bothered to keep his voice like that now.

Clint frowns and pulls away, rubbing and pausing and rubbing against strategically so he doesn't put Bruce to sleep. "You want to try?"

"I think I know."

"You can try."

He opens his mouth, closes it, purses his lips, and tries again: "Are you being forced to stay here?"

Clint stares at him. He honestly got it right. How could he have so easily? On the first try! He swallows and licks his lips, but before he can say anything Bruce takes that as a clear yes and starts talking first:

"Clint, oh my gods, they can't _do_ that!" he whispers frantically, reaching his arms up to take Clint's face lightly yet firmly in both his hands, staring into his eyes. "Maybe prostitution has been made legal all over the world, but forcing you against your will to _stay_ a prostitute is still illegal! Do you have any idea what could happen if the police found out that they were keeping you here against your will? The entire place would be shut down! My best friend is in the highest ranking worldwide police force in the entire world; he could have you out of here in a heartbeat! Not to mention my two other best friends are richer than a drug dealer and could _pay_ to find a way to get you out of here!"

Clint almost smiles. He almost tells him to get him out of here. To get him away from this place and back in the real world…the place he ran away from in the first place. But Clint's not the only one stuck in here, and even the police couldn't fight an entire race to win back four people. Even those richer businessmen couldn't steal them away and set them free. Four people just aren't getting out of here, and it's as simple as that. Clint _chose_ to join this life without knowing he would be forced to stay; if anyone has a right to leave its Loki—but Loki won't leave without Steve, and Steve won't leave without Natasha, and Natasha won't leave without Clint, and Clint wouldn't leave without Loki in the first place. It's all or nothing.

So he cries instead, leaning against Bruce and letting all of it go. Bruce holds him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear about how it's going to be okay and how he's going to get him out of this.

"No, you can't!" Clint says. "I can't go!"

"Yes you _can_, Clint. It's _illegal_."

He pulls away, grabbing another of the towels and wiping his face. He _was_ wearing eyeliner, but he'll have to reapply all that. "No, you don't understand. I have friends here, Bruce. This is my life; it's what I'm used to. Even if I wanted to leave I couldn't without _my_ three best friends." He rolls off of Bruce's lap and over to his tissue box to on the nightstand (even though it's not his actual bedroom they keep it stocked for the usual human things, so tissues, lube, a small trashcan, full-body mirror, and other things are well stocked) to blow his nose, tossing them into the trashcan without looking. "So no, I can't go. It doesn't matter if it's illegal or not, I _can't_." He drops to the ground, sitting crisscrossed, facing towards the nightstand, and drags his hands down his face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Bruce says soothingly, instantly behind him and wrapping his arms around his stomach, resting his cheek against his back. "I won't push you. That's a good reason to stay, just not for very long. I can get you _all_ out, Clint. All four of you. We're at the top of the food chain. It'll be easy."

Clint takes another tissue and blows his nose again, tossing it across the room to the can. "It won't work, Bruce," he whispers. "Even if it could I wouldn't go. I'd send my friends with you, but _I. Can't. Leave_."

Bruce sighs, holding him a little tighter. "What happens if I stop pushing you about it tonight?"

Clint suddenly remembers something, so he plasters on another smile and turns around to show it off. "You tell me your bit of 'nothing' from earlier."

Bruce snorts, looking away with a shake of his head. "Maybe not."

Clint takes his chin and turns him back to him. "Did the mood just pass? I bet I could get it back up." He kisses him softly, turning it urgent as soon as Bruce kisses him back. "Back now?" he asks quietly.

Bruce just chuckles, wrapping his arms around his waist and bending his elbows so that his hands are up to his shoulder blades. He leans forward, putting Clint onto his back, and lies over top of him. He kisses him hard, shifting around every few moments so that they grind against each other a different way every time.

"Now?" Clint asks, wrapping his legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

Bruce moans a little, pulling his arms out from under Clint and leaning up with one leg on Clint's side and the other between his legs. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says. He leans down and holds himself up with his hands on either side of Clint's head. "Has anyone ever told you that? That your hair is the perfect light brown and your eyes are the clearest blue and gods your _arms_…" He leans down and kisses him softly. "You are also loud as all hell and I love it."

Clint's not sure if he should laugh at the last comment or cry at the earlier ones. No, nobody has ever told him that. Not in that way, anyway. He's told he's "hot" and things like "hey there, baby, wanna feast those pretty boy blue eyes on something a little more their size?" and "honey, that brown hair would look a thousand times better between my legs", in which Clint is actually sort of disgusted (he hates the cocky ones, but the problem is they're usually the ones that are better in bed—to him anyway, seeing that he likes the ones who give it to him the hardest).

So he swings his arms back around his neck and pulls him down for one of the best kisses he's ever given, and he's pretty sure it's the best one he's ever received as well.

"That's mostly what I was going to say," Bruce says. "I just…didn't think you'd want to hear it. Plus…" He smiles, rubbing their noses together. "I didn't want you to think I was only saying it because I had you beneath me."

Clint breathes a laugh, stretching his lips out to give him a light kiss. "Do you want to know why I can't leave?" he asks.

"Yeah," Bruce whispers back.

"It's something I've never told anyone before. Not even all three of my friends. Just one of them, because he's… Well, I've only told him." Loki's killed three people, two of them before he got taken into the Skrull. The one here was just a Chitauri guard he was trying to get passed to escape, but the other two… Well, he had a dark past.

"I won't tell anybody else," Bruce says.

"Promise?"

"I do—but even if I didn't, anybody I know doesn't know who _you_ are, so it doesn't matter."

"No, I'm gonna meet your friends, remember?"

Bruce smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I promise not to tell them."

Clint pulls in a deep breath. "It's going to ruin the mood completely. I just… I know you want to know."

Bruce sits them both up, twisting Clint around until he's sitting sideways in Bruce's lap, back towards the bed so he can lean against it. Clint smiles at him. He's so thoughtful and he hasn't even agreed that they're soul mates yet.

"Tell away," he says with a warm smile.

Clint takes a deep breath, collecting all of his thoughts. "I killed six people," he whispers. "That's why I came here."

Bruce blinks at him for a moment before licking his lips. "That's alright," he says quietly. "I've killed two simply because of what I am. Breathtaking anger management issues and all." He gives the tiniest of laughs. "Why did you?"

Clint holds back the urge to burst into laughter. Not because he thinks the murders are funny, but because Bruce did it because he couldn't control it. Clint, on the other hand… "I killed people who bothered me."

Bruce tilts his head a little. "Bothered you?"

"Because I could. I never miss a shot and arrows are very difficult to trace."

Bruce's eyes have never been so wide. "You're Clinton Barton," he whispers. "They called you the Arrow Guy for years."

Now Clint can't help but laugh. "The Arrow Guy? I kill six people in cold blood and they call me the _Arrow Guy_?"

Bruce shrugs. "It wasn't really an official name. People would ask if 'the arrow guy' had been caught yet, or if 'the arrow guy' was even still around."

Clint breathes through his nose. "I just go by Clint Francis now. It's my middle name. Nobody knows my real last one anymore."

Bruce swallows. "That's why you're in here. You joined up to escape and now they don't let you leave anyway."

Clint nods. "For the most part, yeah. I joined up here to have a place to go, but they didn't keep me right away. I still slept here, but I killed two more people while working here. _That's_ when I was forced to stay—though they didn't know it was me—so I stopped. Good thing, to be honest, or I would have kept going. I'm done with that now, though. I was young and stupid. Hell, I'm _still_ young and stupid. I don't really regret it, I'm just…glad I stopped."

Even hearing that—hearing that he murdered people and doesn't regret it—Bruce gives a smile. "They think you ran away to Atlantis Du."

Clint snorts. "Atlantis Du? You mean the original underwater Atlantis that they _finally_ found a few years ago?" He rolls his eyes. "Yeah right. I hate water. 'Sides, don't you have to be a species that can breathe underwater to get down there?"

"No way, they've had pills you can take to breathe underwater for an hour at a time now, plus the older devices that you put on your mouth and can go down. Problem with that, though, is that you can't talk to whoever you with and the water pressure will make your head explode."

Clint nods. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't go down there anyway. I hate pills. They drugged me at first so I couldn't get away. I used to be blonde, you know. I got a permanent hair color change. The other friend of mine who I told about this told me to do it so I'd look a little different at first glance. A lot can happen in a few years, you know? I've got like four different scars now, and I removed the one I had on my shoulder so they couldn't trace it back."

"You don't get any policemen in here that see you and get suspicious? I mean…you still look like you used to quite a bit. You just dyed your hair, after all."

Clint shrugs. "I only killed one of those six people in this country. Most of the guys looking for me don't even know I'm American. I was in Budapest for four of them. The only reason I can't go back out is that, if I do escape from this place, I'm going to have to go to a different country, and then…well, they're bound to recognize me then. That's why I can't go. I have friends and…" He chuckles. "Enemies."

Bruce kisses him softly. "I can fix that."

Clint snorts, pushing him away. "What is this, _Holes_?"

Bruce smirks. "Only if you get to be Kissin' Kate Barlow and you bring me back to life."

Clint laughs, rubbing their noses together. "You're a weird guy, you know that?"

"How so?"

"You're the calmest Rage Monster I have ever met in my entire life, you study your_self_, and when I tell you I've killed six people just because I could you tell me the nickname they gave me. I expected some more…frantic responses."

Bruce smiles. "Frantic doesn't exist when it can bring about what I fear the most."

"Yourself," Clint says with a nod. "Well, I don't know, but you were pretty frantic when I told you they weren't letting me leave this place even if I _did_ want to."

Bruce darkens a little bit, so Clint rubs at his neck to keep him calm. "That's different," he mutters.

Clint _hmphs_ a little and flits his wrist. "Hardly."

Bruce sighs, leaning forward and kissing his collarbone. "It's getting cold," he says. He kisses his neck twice. "I should get dressed. And _you_…" He kisses his jaw line. "You dress up in something warmer as well." He kisses the front of his chin. "Not that you and your feathers were not _dead sexy_, I just…" He smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. "Want you all to myself for the night." He presses their lips softly together.

Clint can't remember the last time he was so happy. "Okay," he says, kissing Bruce again before crawling off of him, snatching up all of Bruce's clothes and tossing them over to him. "All my real clothes are in the room I actually sleep in," he says. "So I'll put what I had on so I don't have to walk all the way over there without anything on."

Bruce laughs, beginning to dress. "Sounds alright to me. Am I allowed to go back there with you or should I wait for you back out in the main hall?"

Clint tsks a few times. "Definitely not allowed back there. I'll meet you out there. Your old spot is taken if all of your friends were up at the same time, so if they are I'll find you." He points at his eyes. "These babies are the _best_. Also, I know this place like the back of my hand, and I _know_ the back of my hand." He squats down to Bruce as the man buttons up his shirt, and holds it up to him without looking at it first. "One of the scars is shaped sort of like a ladle, right on the fold below where the thumb and index meet. There are two tiny little beauty marks below the pinky, and one more on the knuckle of the middle finger—and yes, I _know_ they're only called beauty marks if they're on your face, but…" He shrugs, standing up again to pick up the two halves of his bottoms. "Referring to them as moles freaks people out. _Everything's_ a beauty mark in _my_ world."

Bruce laughs, standing up to put on his underwear. "That's impressive, actually. I don't know a thing about the back of _either_ of my hands."

Clint turns and gives him a sad smile. "You're trying to find a cure, aren't you?"

Bruce sighs, picking up his purple pants. "Yeah," he says quietly.

Clint goes over to him, bottoms zipped up and on. He used to have to have Natasha or Loki help him get them on, but now he knows well enough to figure out how to do it himself. "I have a better idea," he says, kissing his neck, just above the collar of the shirt. "Instead of a cure, try something that makes it controllable. You know the three points now, right? Make something that pinpoints all of it. A sort of…I don't know, I didn't even graduate from high school. I would have been nothing but an art major even if I _did_ go to college. Make whatever you scientists make that can hit all of them in the line it's supposed to. Not all of them at once; you have to hit it side-middle-side. It doesn't matter what side you start with. That way you're not changing yourself. You're still who you are."

Bruce blinks at him for a while before sighing and zipping his pants up. "I don't know," he says quietly, pushing the button through the hole. "My father was _fully_ what I was, so I got all of his genes. I've wanted to be something else my entire life. I don't know if I can suddenly just…_change_ my goal."

"Don't change it, then. Just put it off. Start with the calming first and _then_ go for the cure. If you can figure out a way to just calm it down first then you'll be closer to a cure anyway, which means easier as well."

Bruce actually smiles. "The problem is, that it's a good idea." He kisses his nose. "Put your top on."

Clint rolls his eyes and goes to do that, picking up his boots instead of putting them on all the way since he's just going to change anyway. Bruce is ready when he turns around, so he kisses him again, Bruce spinning him around to lean him over the bed. Clint hums and lifts a leg up to rub against Bruce's hip, grinding up into him.

Bruce chuckles before pulling away, pulling Clint up with him, and kissing his forehead. "Let me buy you a drink," he says.

Clint smiles, nuzzling his nose against Bruce's chin. "You don't have to buy me anything. It's free with me."

"No, no, I came here expecting to pay for sex and I got you instead. I _want_ to pay for your drink."

Clint giggles. "I'm not allowed to drink while I'm working, but since I'm off…" He purses his lips. "I'm sort of boring when it comes to drinking."

"I'll buy it, whatever it is."

"One of Ste—er, Captain America's martini's." He frowns. "Oh, wait, never mind, he's working right now. Damn. I'll just take vodka."

"Lemonade, potato, chocolate…?"

"Gods, not chocolate. I hate chocolate."

Bruce snorts. "You don't like chocolate, or just chocolate vodkas?"

"No, I hate everything about it."

Bruce kisses him hard. "We _are_ soul mates. Chocolate gives me a rash."

Clint laughs, wishing he could throw his arms around him but not wanting to so he doesn't slam his boots into him. "I'll just take an Absolut."

Bruce smiles, kissing his cheek. "Alright. Am I supposed to walk back to the main room myself?"

"Yeah, everybody else usually does. If Heimdall stops you—I mean, the big guy at the door—just tell him the exact truth of what happened. _Trust me_, he will see right through you and call you out on it if you try to make something. He's a Guardian." Guardian's are a species that Clint can safely say know _everything_. They can read minds and perceive certain aspects of the future, among other things. They don't have tongues, though, so they communicate through the mind. Heimdall specifically guards the door that leads back to the bedrooms because he's able to stop anyone who's untrustworthy, like assholes that are going to abuse any of "the girls" (and not abuse as in sadists who go to Clint, but really _abuse_ them) or ones who know they can't pay but are prepared to escape. Guardian's are all also born in a specifically strict religion in which they're not allowed to divulge secrets that are none of their business (so any who work in courtrooms are looked down upon by others of their species), and every one of them is programmed in with the idea at birth because of genetic knowledge of every last Guardian before them. They're very complex, but no one has ever tried to truly study them before because they are not very cooperative.

Bruce laughs. "Oh, one of _them_. Good to know."

Clint kisses him again as they shuffle towards the door, and then quick looks around the room to make sure it's all in order. Apart from the two towels in the hamper and the tissues in the trashcan, it's fine. Well, the bed covers are a little rumpled, but that's alright. The maids will come in and do the touchup. Clint (and Steve) just has to do the initial after-sex cleanup and their own between jobs, since most clients come in between ten to twenty minutes after the last. Clint has no idea how he's not just completely sick of sex yet, but hey, you do what you do.

"I'll find you," he says after they've closed the door behind them.

Bruce smiles. "Sounds like a plan. Absolut Vodka. I'll get it."

Clint kisses his nose. "And I'll drink it."

Bruce smirks as he turns away to start walking, turning back once to smile at him before disappearing around the corner. Clint breathes a happy smile before spinning around to go down to the room he shares with Steve and Natasha, closing and locking the door (just a regular key code pad). He re-applies his eyeliner before stripping off of his show outfit (he's got more than one, this is just the one he wore tonight; it's one of his favorites, which stinks, because he hardly got to wear it tonight) and digs around for his own clothes, wishing he had some more of them. Seeing that he's mostly just around here having sex….well, needless to say, he doesn't have many t-shirts. Or jeans. Or normal shoes. But he's got enough for the rare times he does get to wear them, so he'll be alright.

Clint just wishes he could say the same for him and Bruce. About being alright. Now what happens? He knows he's in love, but if he can't leave he can't just have Bruce come by every week. He wouldn't be allowed to meet up with him outside, either. It doesn't work that way. So what does he do? What _can_ he do?

He sighs, pushing his hands through his hair. "This is stupid," he mutters.

_You're right_, a little voice whispers into his head. It's Natasha, but it's not a present voice. Just what he's heard her tell him a thousand times before. _Around here, love is for children._

He waves his hands into the air, shooing the voice away. Obviously it's for children if she's been here since she _was_ a child. It doesn't work that way for him, though. He's grown up wanting to fall in love…to have a family. He never cared before if it was from the womb of a women he fell in love with or adopted with a man. Now he cares, though. They'll have to be adopted. Because now he wants Bruce.

**OoOoOoO**

_LOKI  
21:48…_

Loki has security cameras in his private show room. It shows the entrance guarded by Heimdall, right outside of his door, outside of the door to his private room, and outside of the door to the room of Kleiser (who everyone else knows as the Other, but he and Loki have been on a first name basis for years now; it's not his _real_ name, but it's his human name so people don't have to refer to him with clicks and hums). He turns them off while he's actually with a client, but he likes to keep them on when he can so he can see what's going on. It's not much, but it's all he cares about.

He doesn't care _whose_ being taken into one of the rooms, he just wants to be able to see when Heimdall looks up at the camera (he's the only one who knows it's there; that man knows _everything_. He and Loki don't really get along much. Not that Loki gets along much with anyone, but that's alright) so he can use his powers to teleport whatever clients come over for a private dance. It scares the shit out of them when they combust into flames and then frost over, but Loki finds it quite funny.

He doesn't _care_ if somebody is outside of his door, he just wants to know when to snap his fingers to cause them to combust for good so he doesn't have to deal with them.

He _does_ happen to care about whom is lingering outside of the door to his _private_ room, but the fact that that room is one of the most heavily guarded in the entire establishment makes Loki usually just ignore that screen.

He also doesn't give a _shit_ who's coming in and out of Kleiser's room; Loki just likes knowing where he is so he knows where to avoid if he doesn't have to see him right then.

So, when Thor comes up to the door, Loki is ready. He's changed out of his long sleeve and into what he was wearing on stage after bursting into flames, though without the sleeveless cloak. He wishes it were without the collar, but that can't be helped. It's placed there by Kleiser so that he knows where he is at all times. It starts glowing like crazy when he leaves the building unscheduled (he's only scheduled to at certain points in the day so he can get his dose of sun; his only comfort is that they won't let him die down here) or when it comes off, not to mention the tracking device in it.

Loki used to try to get out of the building, and sometimes it worked, but the damn collar never let him get far enough. Even when he cut it off so it wouldn't track him they found him anyway. The last time he cut it off it fell to the ground and started glowing (like it would always do when he left the building or cut it off), and he just…gave up. He sat down on the ground in front of it, holding his neck and crying. Kleiser was there almost instantly, ready to punish him again for trying to escape, but when he saw Loki just breaking down…well, there wasn't any punishment involved.

The entire Chitauri species is far from nice. Kleiser himself is even farther. But somehow, when it comes to Loki, he's the nicest he's ever been. He takes care of him like you would take care of anyone you loved, with food, clothing, and warmth, among other things. Loki would actually probably get along with him if it wasn't for... Well, there's a reason he's afraid of submission, anyway.

The look on Thor's face that Loki sees from the camera when he combusts is surprisingly boring, and when the fire frosts over and shatters, Thor is gone. He appears beside the bed in a burst of flames, swiftly followed by more frost and more shattering.

Loki expected questions about how it works (there always are), but instead Thor just smiles and goes over to him, kissing him softly.

Loki kisses him back automatically, but his eyes are open. He's confused. Nobody smiles at him after being teleported. It either frightens them or just downright annoys them, and then Loki gets to blink at them until they're done complaining so he can ask if they'd rather get on with it or leave.

When Loki wraps his arms around Loki's waist, Loki gives an "_hmph_" sort of laugh and pushes back on him hard, frosting his feet to the floor so he can't right himself, causing him to fall onto the bed.

"Before we begin…" he says, speaking in English because he knows Kleiser has a camera to this room so that he can watch and listen to Loki (he's a triolist, or a cuckoldist, or whatever you want to call it) and he doesn't want him to force Thor into this as well because of the rare language he can speak. He un-frosts the blonde's feet as he walks towards him and continues: "There are some rules we need to go over."

Thor grins. "Do tell."

He grins back as he stands between Thor's legs, flitting his wrist to motion for him to go completely onto the bed. "Number one, no speaking in anything but English. Don't question it, just trust me."

Thor nods as he obeys Loki's motion.

"Number two," Loki says as he pulls off Thor's shoes and tosses them to the ground, "I don't submit. I can tell just by looking at you that you're used to be the dominant one, but it doesn't work like that in here. Another thing not to question. I wouldn't be allowed to tell you anyway."

Thor nods against the pillow.

"Now, being dominant doesn't mean you can still…" He licks his lips. "…enter me. I'm just the one making the calls."

Thor smirks. "Understood and accepted," he says.

Loki gives a returning smirk. "Good. Those are the only ones I have." He snaps his fingers and Thor's clothes do the necessary combust-frost-shatter to teleport off of him and appear in a heap on the floor, followed by Thor giving nothing but a smile. Loki's not used to simple smiles. He's used to accusations and complaints and rolling his eyes.

He crawls slowly up from the bottom of the bed, making his way up Thor's body, tongue darting out in a tease. He pauses purposely over Thor's groin before simply passing it, sitting up on it.

Thor lets out a shuddering breath at the contact before schooling his face to nothing but a smile again.

Loki laughs. "So what would you like to happen?" he asks.

Thor lifts his hands up until his wrists are together above his head. "Tie me up."

Loki grins. He loves it when clients know what they want. He gets the quiet ones sometimes that don't give near enough feedback to his pleasuring; he's good enough that he still knows everything what they're thinking, he just likes it when they tell him so he doesn't have to think as hard.

He combusts into his hand his bondage belt, leaning over Thor to strap his hands together. If he had his hands held out to the poles beside the bedposts then he would have teleported over his two sets of handcuffs, but with his wrists already together it was easy to know _exactly_ what he wanted.

He leans back, tracing a finger down Thor's chest and stopping just shy of the triangle of hair there. "Anything else?" he says with a grin.

Thor smirks back. "Your clothes. Off."

Loki snaps his fingers to combust them away, soaking in the look on Thor's face once they're gone. "And with you all tied up," he says, reaching down to his own cock, "you can't touch me."

Thor groans a little. "I know," he says. "I like it."

"Well, now that I'm in complete command," Loki says, letting go of himself. "I think it's time _I_ decide what we do."

Thor looks thrilled about that.

Loki leans down, grinding himself against Thor, and kisses him. It's soft for a split second before he bites at him, soaking in the breathy moans he's receiving from Thor as he shifts his hips around on his groin.

The blonde is hard as rock soon later, and Loki can't deny that he's about that hard as well. He pulls up from Thor and smiles seductively at him as he holds his hand up to teleport into it his bottle of lube, Thor's eyes darkening even further in anticipation.

"You're submitting either way," Loki says as he uncaps the lid. "But would you rather—"

"Ride me," Thor says huskily before he finishes. "I want you on top of me."

Loki laughs, slicking three of his fingers. He lies down in such a way that his back is on the bed between Thor's legs and his ass is on Thor's groin again, his legs bent to rest at his sides. He knows Thor will want to watch him prepare himself without even asking.

Thor is panting profusely by the time that Loki is done, wrists straining against the strap. Loki doesn't even have to give a ten second blow job to make sure he's hard enough to go in; he already is, precum dripping.

Loki positions Thor and himself to sink down onto him correctly, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to the ceiling at the sensation. It's not every client he's able to let out a real moan, but as Thor's echoes through the room he just can't help it. He sinks down as far as he can before looking down from the ceiling and into Thor's eyes, grinning a bit.

Thor is long past trying to keep his face nothing but a smile. He's unabashed as Loki switches the angle a bit by leaning forward to suck at his neck, hand reaching up to unclip the strap around Thor's wrists. He leans up as Thor's hands snap to his waist, gripping tight enough to leave bruises. Loki is ready for him to force him to move, but he does not.

He frowns down at the blonde.

Thor tilts his head slightly. "Are you going to move or is this your idea to continue torturing me?" he asks quietly.

Loki jaw almost drops. Thor is referring to Loki's second rule (or his usual only rule, but he wanted to make sure Thor didn't speak any Norse) about Loki not submitting. He's…he's letting Loki move on his own so he continues to be the dominant.

A fire unlike any other is ignited inside of Loki. He snaps into his movements like he never has before, giving more to Thor than he's ever given to anyone (especially for no more than his starting price).

He couldn't hold his moan back if he wanted to as he shifts so that Thor hits his prostate, soaking in the dreamy smile Thor gives at the sound.

"You can help me," he moans out. "You can move me if you want. I thought you were going to before, I just—_gods_!"

Thor had gripped onto his cock, but Loki quick bats his hand away. He's not ready for that yet; it still reminds him of Kleiser.

He grins down some more so Thor can't say anything about it, gripping onto his own cock to pump himself. If Thor was going to do it for him then he's probably close and wants them to come at the same time. He leans down and presses his lips hard to Thor's mouth, kissing them to ecstasy.

Loki's had years to train himself not to collapse onto his clients after orgasms, but this time he wouldn't have been able to stop himself. He's able to hold himself up for about three seconds, and literally right before he collapses is when Thor pulls him down anyway. Loki smiles to himself, glad he can continue to keep up appearances. Maybe Kleiser will applaud him for it later—that means softer sex, which means less pain for Loki. Then again, maybe not.

"You're as good as they say you are," Thor breathes after a moment, fingers playing through Loki's hair.

Loki bats his hand away. Kleiser does that too. "You're not so bad yourself," he says, managing to roll off of Thor and lay beside him. "You followed my rules very nicely." There were the couple mishaps, but those weren't precisely part of the "I dominant, not you" deal. He's was definitely still dominating when Thor grabbed his cock, and Thor stroking his hair was little more than after-sex.

"I tried," Thor says, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Do you—ah—clean-up?"

Loki chuckles and flits his wrists, causing small places to combust before frosting over and shattering, putting it all into the garbage can. "Done."

"That is so convenient," Thor says, pulling his legs over so that they're crisscrossed. "Can you do that with my clothes?"

Loki laughs louder and snaps his fingers, dressing Thor as well as himself with his favorite long sleeve and pants look. It makes him feel like he's just another patron, not to mention anyone who's new thinks he is as well so they don't try to get a dance with him.

"You're welcome," he says with a smirk, walking over in his boots to look into the mirror. "Now—," he sighs, looking over at Thor, who's standing as well.

"I must leave, I know," the blonde says. "You have other clients as well. What forms of payment may I use?"

Loki gives him a warm smile. Some are like him in which they know they have to leave right away, but others want to stay and _talk_. Loki is not exactly a fan of talking, and especially not with clients. He'd talk with Thor, though… Maybe he'll be here tomorrow. It's Comedy Night, which means Loki's one night off. Maybe he'll just…let it slip out while he's paying.

"Well, I won't be getting to all of the others," Loki says with a nonchalant shrug. "And usually they'd come back tomorrow and try again, but I have tomorrow off." He smiles. "Anyway, we accept all forms of pay."

Thor takes the bait without batting an eyelash. Ah yes, like fish in a barrel. "A day off?" he asks, pulling out a checkbook. "You are allowed those?"

Alright, maybe not. "Sort of," Loki says, holding out a pen. It's his favorite pen, with blue ink that, if blown on, will turn red. If Heimdall is the one to blow on it, though, it turns red just before bursting into flame. Loki's not really sure why; it probably has to do with his species. He's known as a Guardian, which is why he knows everything. Funny thing, he usually keeps it to himself. He always knows when Loki is going to try to escape, and even though he doesn't like him, he doesn't say anything about it. Granted, that's partly because he _can't_ speak, but he can still tell Kleiser through his mind.

"Sort of?" Thor asks as Loki points up to the wall, where sits a device that records how much is to be paid. Loki rigged it before Thor came in to stay at the starting price, but he'll fix it when he's gone.

"I still have to be here," he says as Thor nods at the price. "I just don't take any requests, which means I get to drink something other than water. Anyone with a number has one day of the week off in which they don't take requests." He laughs. "Well, we're not open on Sunday, so I suppose that counts as two."

"How nice," Thor says, writing into the booklet. "And quite a coincidence that tomorrow is your day off."

Loki tilts his head. "How so?"

"My friend Anthony is bringing our other two friends and I back here tomorrow night for Comedy Night. I'll probably see you around." He rips out the check and holds it out to Loki.

Loki smirks, taking the piece of paper. "How convenient," he says. "I'll find you. Drinks with me are free."

Thor breathes a laugh, going right up to Loki and sticking the pen behind his ear. "Sounds like a plan."

Loki lets the blonde kiss him before he snaps his fingers to combust him away, wishing he didn't have to. He's never wanted to talk to someone before. It's…nice.

There's a knock on his door, and Loki glances over to the cameras (he totally forgot to turn them off; he's _never_ forgotten to turn them off) to see that it's one of the Chitauri. He sighs and puts the check in the wall slot before he swings the door open, giving a passive look to Alva. He's been here long enough that he can tell one Chitauri from the other.

"What?" he snaps. "I have other clients waiting."

Alva rolls his eyes. He's one of Kleiser's personal servants, so he's used to Loki being an asshole. "The Other wishes to see you at the end of your night," he says. "He expects you to come straight into his bedroom the moment that the last one is out."

Loki groans and looks up at the camera he knows goes to Kleiser's room. "I can't even get some water?" he asks darkly.

Alva puts a hand to his ear, where a microphone is. "You may," he says. "He says to do what you need to prepare yourself."

Loki winces, not caring who sees it. "Right, thanks." He slams the door and collapses against it, teleporting with his combusting a glass of water into his hands and downing just enough that he won't get a side ache with the next client.

If he had any means of killing himself he would have done it years ago.

**OoOoOoO**

_NATASHA  
22:27…_

Natasha laughs at Tony's story (a _real_ laugh) as she presses her thumb to the pad to get into her private dance room. "Did you really _say_ that?" she asks, closing the door behind them.

"Hell yes I said it!" Tony says, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door. "I ain't no pansy."

She smirks, crossing her arms. "And _how_ much was your hospital bill?"

Tony snorts. "You have no faith in me, oh lady of the house." He raises a fist. "I emerged victorious!" He lowers it. "Meaning I ran like a dog and never went back."

Natasha laughs again, leaning against the door beside him. "How very brave of you. The fist pump was a nice touch."

He grins brightly. "You liked that? I've been practicing."

She gives a good natured eye roll. "Alright, Tone," she says, leaning away and pushing her hands into the back pockets of her pants. "See that device on the wall there?" she asks, motioning with her head.

Tony nods.

"That records everything you'll owe, and it's constantly updating. So, if you only want to spend a certain amount, just check up there every once in a while and you'll know how much longer you've got before you'll go over it."

Tony smiles. "That's a brilliant idea. Thankfully I have an unlimited supply and will probably not be looking at it."

Natasha snorts a little. "Well, let's say _I_ had an unlimited amount of clothes to change into." She turns to face him completely. "What would you want me to wear? Because right now I'm not in any sort of show outfit."

Tony purses his lips and thinks a moment. "Hmm… Nothing?"

She laughs again, pulling her hands out of her pockets. "Not quite yet."

He shrugs. "Then I guess just put on something tiny. Also not anything with leather or…well, anything generally _hard_, you know?"

Natasha nods, moving towards the second door of the room. Most of the other rooms don't have it, but she's got a tiny walk in closet. Her clients tend to always want her to change her clothes or something while she's giving them a break from the pain, so the Other put a closet in her private dance room with most of her shoes and clothes in it. Needless to say, she's gotten pretty fast at changing her clothes.

"Color preferences?" she asks form inside.

"Uh…I like red and gold," Tony says back.

Natasha smirks. She happens to have the _perfect_ outfit for those colors. She grabs a red braw with gold frills and stitching and then the matching underwear (a thong, with the frills on the front) and then the matching mini-skirt that came with it as well (it's amazing the things you can get that match when you know where to shop). Next comes the red garter, the skirt being short enough that it's easily visible. Her toe and fingernails are painted black, but that can easily be changed by the device she has in the corner. She puts her hands and feet in, and it takes off the old polish and puts on the new color(s) of your choosing in just eighteen seconds. She programs it to paint all of her nails gold, with a red accent nail on her hands.

"Any specific way you want my hair?" she asks as she digs around for her gold heels.

"No," Tony says. "I like it down. It's pretty."

Natasha grabs the shoes and stands, turning to stare out of the little crack between the door that's not fully closed and the doorframe. Tony is just standing out there, peering around, and actually looking somewhat nervous. She can't help but smile at him. Nobody's ever called her pretty before, even if it is just her hair. "Hot", "sexy", and "baby you hurt so good" are among the frequent, but _never_ "pretty".

She quick puts on the gold heels before pushing the door open, hair falling around her shoulders and nearly covering one of her eyes. "You look nervous," she says, leaning against the door to close it. It locks automatically, and the only way to get back inside is if you hold onto the knob for about three seconds so it can scan your fingerprint (and of course only a specific few fingerprints are programmed in).

Tony turns to her and looks like he's about to say something intelligent, but instead he blabbers nonsense for a moment before closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Damn," he eventually gets out, walking over to her and stopping about two feet back. "You really got the red and gold down.

She laughs, leaning away from the door to stand with legs spread and hands on her hips. She doesn't cross her arms in show outfits. "Now I'm as tall as you with these heels, though. Anyway, you didn't answer my question about being nervous."

Tony frowns. "I wasn't aware it was a question."

She rolls her eyes. "Are you nervous, Tony?"

He chuckles quietly. "No, it's just… Is there a bed in here?"

Natasha cocks an eyebrow and walks across the room, pressing her thumb to a pad on the wall to make a bed lower itself out of the wall. "Yes, but I don't see why we're going to need it."

Tony purses his lips. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Natasha smirks a little, sidling over to him. "That's alright," she whispers, leaning an elbow against his shoulder. "They're always afraid."

"No, I mean, I…" He sighs, stepping away from her and backing up against the door. "I just realized your specialty as a number."

Natasha frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Masochism, right? I mean…you're a sadist?"

She shrugs. "Not particularly. I just have a very specific skill set."

"Yeah, uh… Ever done anything else?"

She frowns deeper. "Are you going to spit out what you're thinking or do I have to guess?"

He takes a deep breath and spews it out: "I'm not a masochist but obviously that's what you do best and I still totally want to spend my money on you but I do _not_ want to see what that whip can do and I don't really like being chained up so I'm wondering if you can just do like normal sex and um I can pay extra and stuff but I just really don't want to be strapped to that creepy table looking thing because those straps look like they have little razors on the underside and um no thank you."

Natasha blinks at him, sputters a little, and then bursts into laughter. "Oh my gods, I get it. You honestly couldn't tell what I did when Hawkeye made the announcement about 'you'll see what she really does with this next song' and then I sung a song by a band called the fucking _Genitorturers_? What did you expect, kittens and butterflies?"

"Don't make fun of me; I was still swooning over your _first_ song!"

"You mean the one from the animated movie?" She groans a little. "Oh, you _are_ new around here."

"Well I don't want to _leave_," he mutters, pushing a hand through his hair. "I mean, I don't want to go to anybody else. I love your hair and your eyes are a really pretty blue and earlier you, like, jumped onto the bar stool and spun around a couple of times and it was really cute."

Natasha blinks at him. None of her clients have ever told her that they love her hair, or commented on her "pretty blue eyes", and being called _cute_? She's more apt to be called pretty than _cute_. She's a ruthless, pain inflicting woman that wears leather and tends to carry around either a whip or a riding crop depending on her mood. There's no _reason_ for her to be called cute.

"So I can totally pay extra for having you do something that's not your specialty or whatever," Tony continues before she can say anything, moving his hands around in all sorts of manners to go with his words. "Or I don't know how that works I've never been here before I mean obviously or I would have figured out that you're supposed to strap me down by now and I don't know I like you."

Natasha blinks some more before giving an almost nervous laugh. "It's not about you being able to pay extra," she says, ignoring everything he said last, not because she doesn't want to acknowledge it but just because it's not really important right now, "it's about me not being very _good_ at it."

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "You? Not good at sex? I beg to differ and I haven't even slept with you."

"No, you don't understand." She twirl a lock of her hair, wishing her had a stick of gum or something. She doesn't smoke because it's bad for the poison in the glands of her mouth, but chewing gum with fangs is the _best_. "I haven't had sex in nearly four years."

Tony blinks for a moment. "I—really?"

"Yes really! I've never had anybody come in here without knowing what I _do_ before! The last time I had sex was with St—fuck, Captain America so he could practice for any of the next women that requested him!"

Tony cocks both eyebrows. "You guys practice on each other?"

"Well there's not much _else_ to do when you're not allowed to leave."

Tony frowns and Natasha groans at herself, turning around so that she doesn't have to look at him.

"I should _not_ have said that," she mutters.

"What do you mean you're not allowed to leave?" he asks loudly, going over to her, spinning around her to face her. She notices very significantly that he doesn't force _her_ to turn around.

"It's because I'm a vampire," she lies. "I live here because I can't go into the sun."

"It's _New York_, it's not like the weather is always good enough for the sun to shine anyway. Besides, the sun _sets_. It's called _nighttime_."

She shakes her head, pushing his hand off of her and going over to sit on the bed. She's glad he asked about it or she'd have to sit on the hard chair in the corner that she ties people to. "No, you don't understand that either. My shift starts when it's light out and it ends when it's light out." More lies. "Even if the sun doesn't _always_ shine there are the days that it does and I would get in trouble for not being able to make it to work."

"You can't just wear a heavy coat or use an umbrella?" he asks, sitting down beside her.

She wrinkles her nose up at him. "You really don't know anything about my species, do you?"

He shrugs. "I know you all speak Romanian."

She snorts. "Jezik's," she mutters. They know _everything_ about languages. Then, louder so he can hear her easily, "We can't risk going out in daylight. If even the tiniest speck of sun gets to us we'll burst into flames. I don't know about you, but I _want_ to live."

Tony nods. "How long do you guys live, anyway?"

"We don't live forever, if that's what you're asking. We have the same lifespan as anybody else. We just happen to have poisonous fangs that we can drink blood with and eyes that will start to burn whatever we're looking at if we look at it long enough."

"And _you're_ twice as special," he says with a smile, tracing lightly down her arm. "You're part spider as well."

"Which would usually come in handy for tying people up," she says. "Except you don't want that."

He shakes his head. "Can you show me how it works?"

"What, the webbing?" She cocks her wrist just right so that it shoots out of her wrist and splatters against the back of the chair, effectively leaving a nearly indestructible web. "It just comes out of my wrists. That's why I have the spiders tattooed there."

"That's fascinating." He takes her wrists lightly and looks into it, and Natasha has to resist the urge to splatter his face with it. She loves do that to people. He looks up at her with a smile and sets her wrist softly in her lap. "So the only reason you can't leave is because of the sun?"

"Correct," she lies. There are no cameras in the room, but she still can't tell anyone. The Other would find out _some_how…

Tony smirks. "I don't believe you."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her legs. "Sucks for you."

He sighs, looking away from her and then back. "Do we get to use this bed or am I going to have to force myself over to that table so I can spend more time with you?"

She smiles at him. She can't help it. She never gets the nice ones. Sure, she gets quiet ones, or weird ones…but never the nice ones. It's a wonderful change.

"It's actually going to cost a little less," she says. "It's less than my specialty, which means it's not going to be anything more special than it would be with any other girl. Nonetheless you _are_ taking up the time of a number, so it's not going to be as cheap as it could be."

Tony grins. "That's totally alright with me," he says as Natasha stands. "Also, this means I'm more educated in this specific thing, right? So it means I'm technically teaching _you_, right?"

She purses her lips and nods. "Yeah, pretty much. Are you sure you don't want to go to somebody who actually knows what they're doing? You're a nice guy, honestly, and I wouldn't want you to walk away form this unhappy."

Tony snorts and stands as well, flitting wrist. "After all that you think I want somebody else just because you haven't done it in a few years? Sex isn't just something you forget, sweetheart. Maybe you won't know right at first, but you'll remember soon enough. I've done this a ton of times. I can guide you easy."

Natasha gives a good natured eye roll. "You cocky bastard, just get undressed."

Tony smirks. "With pleasure."

As he starts to undress, Natasha goes back into the closet to take off her heels, garter, and skirt. When she comes back out, Tony is smirking at her from under the blankets.

"Wow," she says, padding over to him. There's no rug on her floor since rugs imply some sort of comfort, so the smooth concrete is freezing on her feet. Thankfully she's a vampire and thrives more in the cold than heat in the first place. She doesn't like rugs anyway. "I thought _I_ could undress fast. You even had twice as many clothes on as I did."

He shrugs. "I didn't fold them, though." He points to the chair, in which they're tossed all over haphazardly.

"Red and gold boxers," Natasha says with a laugh, crawling onto the bed from the bottom. "I never would have guessed."

He just smirks and shrugs, opening the covers for her to crawl in. He's completely unabashed as he does, cock fully visible since he's moved the blankets. Natasha is about to crawl under, but that's when she notices his chest. There's a sort of circular device sticking out of it, a triangle in the middle of it. It's glowing a beautiful light blue out of certain cracks.

"What is _that_?" she asks.

Tony shrugs, looking down at him. "Miniature arc reactor. I took some shrapnel when something exploded and had to create this so that it wouldn't penetrate my heart and kill me."

Natasha blinks at him. "What the fuck is an arc reactor?"

He breathes a laugh. "Right, you don't get out much. It's…an energy source, for lack of a better description. It's not important."

"Yeah, alright," she says, sliding in beside him as seductively as she can. She didn't really _forget_ all of her moves, she just needs to…remind herself. She's not used to people who feel good by actually feeling _good_ and not just by pain and snappy kisses. She pushes all of the blankets off but for one sheet. "I hate heavy blankets. They impede my movement."

Tony smiles at her and kisses her cheek. "See? You're remembering how this works already. Lie on your back."

Natasha stares at him for a moment. The only people that kiss her on the cheek are Steve, Clint, and Loki, and that's simply platonic. This is all just so…odd. She does as she's told, knowing Tony probably has far more knowledge in sex anyway. Even if she does remember everything she knows it's not going to hold a candle to somebody who has it as often as he obviously does.

"You're a lot nicer than most of the people I'm used to," she says quietly as he licks his lips and crawls above her, knees on the outside of her hips and hands on either side of her head on the pillow.

He smiles down at her. "You're used to people who are rough because they like it when you're rough to them," he says matter-of-factly. "I, on the other hand, am actually rather into the…slow and sensual. So this entire experience will be new to you, I'm sure. Other than Captain America a few years ago, but the point is it's been a while." He purses his lips. "Captain America...that's so familiar… Does he greet people who come in and get their drinks sometimes?"

Natasha smiles and nods. "He must have greeted you guys."

Tony nods. "I think one of the three guys I came in with ended up sneaking off with him, but I'm not sure."

Natasha nods. "Wouldn't surprise me at all. But let's not talk about Mr. Patriotism anymore…" She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. "I want to remember _everything_."

Tony smirks and nods, and then he's kissing her, lips soft and slow. Natasha's not used to slow, but she can get used to it soon enough. It's…nice. He coaxes her mouth open a moment later, tongue slipping lightly past her teeth.

She turns her head to pull away. "Careful," she says. "They'll cut you. They're not used to being nice to people."

Tony breathes a laugh, dropping down to press his lips to her neck. "You talk about them as if they have minds of their own."

Natasha refrains from telling him that she's named the two main fangs that do the poison secreting and just smiles as he sucks lightly at her skin. To be honest she could classify herself as sexually deprived, considering that she doesn't get off by sadism and she hasn't done anything else that _does_ get her off. So really, anything that Tony does to her is going to get a good reaction. She can't even remember if she's a loud lover or not…

Tony sucks lightly at her neck before trailing kisses back up her neck and to her lips, her face turned towards him again. He kisses her lightly, his tongue pushing in and missing her teeth with an acute precision she hasn't seen around very much. He lifts one of his hands from the pillow as he kisses her, putting it down so that it lightly brushes her side before he rests it on her hip.

Natasha begins to remember that she likes the sensation of being touched in non-sexually places very much, but she also knows that that's a normal female thing, so it doesn't faze her all that much. Then again, being sexually deprived… She arches her hips up, hoping that Tony takes the hint that she likes it.

Instead of moving his other hand to her other hip, though, he moves his hand even farther down, feeling up her leg. They each let out breathy moans, and Natasha is glad she got the "hairless shot" _years_ ago. It targeted the legs, pelvic area, and underarms, but not just _everything_ because that would also mean she'd have no hair on the top of her head, no eyelashes, no eyebrows, and then none of the little ones that are important for keeping out bacteria and therefore keeping the body healthy. Now she _never_ has to shave, which was every woman's dream (and some men) since the beginning.

Tony's hand is so _warm_, and usually Natasha would dislike the sensation, but somehow it's…wonderful. His hand continues to smooth itself over her leg, eventually moving to her inner thigh. Natasha is ready for it, spreading her legs a little.

Tony chuckles a little, turning his hand so its cupper over her thong. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, dropping his lips to her neck. He rubs between her legs for a moment before pulling his hand away completely, to which Natasha replies with an unhappy sigh. He breathes a laugh, pulling his mouth away from her to speak:

"I was just going to take it off," he whispers into her ear.

Natasha laughs before biting her lip to shut herself up, but when Tony leans up so he can take off the thong he sees the blood it drew beginning to dribble down her chin.

"Did you bite yourself?" he asks, putting his hands back down to lean above her.

"I was trying not to laugh," she says with a guilty smile.

He gives a good natured eye roll before leaning down just a little bit further, darting his tongue out to lick up the blood before sucking lightly at her lip.

She gives an unabashed moan. Blood, _gods_. Everything about blood turns her on. Alright, so maybe sadism does turn her on a _little_ bit…but that's just if they bleed, and she can just bite people for that sensation (not to mention the biting turns them on more than it does her).

Tony chuckles again, leaning up as he did before. "Like that?" he asks.

"I should be asking _you_ that," she says, arms dropped from his neck and reaching up to shove underneath the pillows beneath her head. "_You're_ not a vampire."

He smirks, hooking his two index fingers under the thin strip of fabric of her thong. "What can I say? It's hot." He pulls down on her thong, winking at her before looking down. Natasha pulls her knees up to help him get it off instead of making him crawl down underneath the blankets to get to the bottom of her legs.

"Yayy," he says quietly, and Natasha can safely say that it's the cutest thing she has ever heard.

"What?" she asks, pulling her arms out from under the pillow and propping herself up on her elbows.

"I hate hair," he says, "and you are clean as a whistle."

Natasha is about to say something about the shot, but instead she lets out a little noise of surprise as Tony's hand goes straight back to her, a single finger rubbing up and down.

"Oh gods," she says, dropping her neck back but staying propped up on her elbows. "I can't believe I forgot how good that feels."

Tony laughs and just…keeps going. Natasha spreads her legs unabashedly as he does, eventually dropping her elbows so she can lie on her back and tangle her hands together back underneath the pillow. She swears she's actually going to orgasm not very long later, but Tony pulls away, earning another sad sigh from her.

"Gods, you're wet," Tony whispers, reaching the hand he just used to rub and finger Natasha up to his mouth so he can suck on his fingers. Natasha finds the act rather disgusting, but she finds a lot of things disgusting and she's a pro at keeping the feeling to herself.

He crawls off of her and lies down beside her, licking his lips. "Since you haven't done this in a long time," he says to her, "it's going to hurt at first. I don't want to hurt you, though, because you're the one that performs pain on _others_, not on yourself. So I want you to start out on top so you can dictate how fast we go, okay? That way you decide through the pain."

Natasha understands that completely and sits up so she can crawl on top of him, smirking at the raging hard-on he's sporting. "You're not even going to take off my bra yet?"

Tony's eyes widen a little. "Oh." He laughs. "I almost forgot about it. I was too busy trying to get inside you."

Natasha laughs too, leaning down on top of him. "Well, at least you're honest."

Tony reaches around and unclips it easily, showing off that he's done it many times before. He kisses Natasha softly ones before she leans back up, leaving the bra there.

Tony gives a silent moan, hands gripping onto her hips. "Yeah, definitely glad you reminded me."

She giggles, picking up the bra and tossing it onto the floor. "Thought you would."

She's about to push up so that she can lower herself onto Tony, but instead he leans up, pressing his face between her breasts and licking a path up to her neck. She breathes a silent moan, pushing her fingers into his hair. He lets go of one of her hips and traces it up her skin until he's squeeze at her breast, twisting at the nipple and kneading against the skin. The other one is pleasured by his mouth with kisses, teeth, and tongue, sucking and—

"Gods, stop it!" Natasha growls, pushing him down onto his back with her hands pressed against his chest. "I _want_ you, dammit!" Then she realizes what she's just said, and she pulls her hands away from him and holds them in front of her in a sort of defense, confused by her own words. She's never _wanted_ one of her clients before. They're all so…rough.

Tony smiles up at her. "Waitin' on you now," he whispers huskily, showing off a perfect smile. One to rival Clint's, even. She's _never_ seen a smile that could rival Clint's.

Natasha doesn't care enough about how confused she is towards herself to keep thinking about it, so instead she just lifts herself up. She's spends about one second wondering how she's going to hold up his dick at the same time she sinks onto it, but Tony's way ahead of her, positioning it upwards himself.

Natasha begins to lower, honestly a little bit frightens at how much it's going to hurt. She goes slow, stopping every few moments to bounce slightly to slick it up a bit.

Tony moans before choking out, "See, you're still great at this."

Natasha smirks once before slamming herself down on him, grinning around the pain. The expression on his face and the sound that escapes his throat is worth doing it a thousand times over.

"Yeah?" she asks with a giggle, bracing her palms against his chest. "I can tell." She lifts up and presses back down, Tony's hands reaching up to rest on her hips again. She continues to pump above him, swiveling her hips. She bends down after a while, finding it impossible not to moan. It just…_gods_! It didn't feel near this good with Steve (if she's remembering it right), and Steve is _good_ at what he does. Maybe it was because he was on top and therefore doing all of the work, and Natasha's just…used to doing all of it? Since she's always using the whips and chaining the people she's with she's used to being the one in command. Maybe that's it.

"Aahh!—stop, stop," Tony moans loudly, holding her hips down.

Natasha stops moving, breathing heavy in his ear. She pushes herself up on shaky arms to look at him. "What's wrong?"

He gives a shaky laugh before pulling her down on top of him all the way, kissing her hard, one hand smoothing down over her ass and the other rubbing warmly at her back. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he breathes, moving his other hand down to her ass as well and squeezing. "I probably should have asked this a long time ago, but I was pretty sure I already knew. I just…I want to make sure. Vampires can't have kids, can they?"

Natasha laughs, kissing him again. "No, it's impossible for our species."

"Then how the _fuck_ do you reproduce?"

"Well, we _can_ reproduce with another of our same species, or we just…adopt babies and bite them before they know what's happening. The process of being changed from whatever species you are at the time to a vampire is completely painless."

"That seems so…heartless."

"You know, in the olden days the world said that one of the most effective ways to keep a vampire away from you, or kill it, was to stab a stake through their heart. Tell me, would that kill _you_, Tony?"

Tony laughs, arching his hips a little bit. "Possibly."

Natasha giggles, leaning up so she can go back to pumping herself onto Tony's cock.

Tony whimpers a little bit, pulling her back down so that their bodies are pressed together again. He lets go of her ass and goes up to squeeze one of her breasts again, moaning hard as hell when she sucks on his lip.

Even though Natasha is the one that's pumping, Tony is able to shift the angle, and something about it just makes Natasha want to _scream_. She bends down over Tony's body, hands now braced on the bed, and moans like a fucking teenager into his ear—and more than once. She climaxes without hinder, continuing to pump just a few more moments before Tony does as well, arms again around her back and holding her tight.

They come down from the highs slowly, Natasha's arms beside Tony's head as she pushes her hands through his hair, smiling down at him like he's her very own moon. Tony, on the other hand, is rubbing his hands absentmindedly over her back and looking at her like she's his new sun, which makes Natasha want to laugh.

"So much for starting out with you on top," he breathes, licking his lips and then swallowing. "Looks like you finished that way, too."

She smiles at him, dropping her face down to rest their foreheads together. "Yeah, I'm glad. I like being on top better."

Tony breathes a laugh, hands letting go of her back for a moment, and the next thing Natasha feels is the sheet being pulled over them. "The reason I don't come to these places is because I fall asleep all the time," he mutters, pushing her head off of his so he can shake his a little.

Natasha laughs, pulling the sheets up even higher. "I'd love to sleep to. I'm not used to having any orgasm, let alone right at the beginning of a work night. I'd get in trouble, though."

"Yeah, probably. If you're not allowed to leave then you probably don't get days off, either."

"I get Monday's off," she says. "Except today's only Wednesday, so I almost have an entire _week_ to go through."

"But you didn't deny that you're forced to stay here!"

"Yeah, because I'm done talking with you about it."

He rolls his eyes, turning onto his side so she's cuddled up next to him instead of on top. "Doesn't mean I won't try," he says, pulling softly out of her. He wraps an arm possessively around her waist and cuddles up next to her, lower than her so that his forehead is just up to her nose.

"I'm not supposed to tell you anyway," she says, pushing a hand through his hair. "We might not make it out alive. Well, I probably would since I bring in so much profit… You, on the other hand, will either be forced to stay here as well or simply killed. That's what happened to Captain America's best friend. He was known as the Winter Soldier around here, but that was only for about three days before he went off and got himself killed to get out of here. St—er, Captain America doesn't _know_ that he's dead, though I'm sure he suspects it."

Tony turns up to look at her with a frown. "That's terrible. If it weren't for the fact that you were here I'd never come back to pay to such a scumbag establishment. I could get you out, you know. Other than the fact that I'm one of the most influential businessmen in the country and even the world, one of my best friends is in a police force that is the most powerful in the world. Just say the word and you're out."

Natasha smiles at him. "I couldn't go," she says quietly. "You'd have to come at night, and then I'd still have to find a place in which there was never any sun, or at least so little of it that I wouldn't have to go outside when it was up. Not to mention my other friends here… I couldn't leave them."

Tony nods, kissing her chin. "That's alright. You can stay here if you want to. Do you get any phone time?"

"I've never needed any. I've been down here since I was two."

Tony sputters wildly and sits up so fast that it even makes Natasha a little dizzy. "_What_?" he says. "How old are you _now_?"

"Twenty-four."

"You've been here for _twenty-two_ years and you've _never left_?"

She sits up slowly, stretching her back. "Yeah, so what?"

"Nat, you _have_ to let me take you out. Now I _want_ to. Even during the night the city is alive. I want to show you!"

She gives a sad smile and swings her feet over the edge of the bed, looking around for her clothes so she can put them away and change into something with more leather. "Maybe some other time," she whispers.

Tony sighs, and then Natasha feels a hand holding lightly to her arm. "I know you don't want to be here," he says, crawling over so he can peer around at her. "Why won't you let me rescue you?"

"I don't want to be rescued," she says, pulling her arm even lighter away from him and picking up her clothes once they're located, tossing them haphazardly into the closet before turning around to face Tony, crawling out of the bed as well. "I want revenge."

Tony smirks at her. "I can arrange that."

"What if I don't want your help?"

"Then you won't have it. I just want to be here with you."

She sighs, turning around and going into the closet, leaving the door wide open. "It would be too dangerous for you," she says, rooting around for the usual outfit she wears at first when with _normal_ clients. "It'd be dangerous enough for _me_ let alone having an outsider with me."

"Which is why you should just let me help you," he says. Natasha hears the sound of clothes and knows he's getting dressed as well. "I'm good at revenge. Well…better at it when I've got a bone to pick with whoever it is as well, but I'm sure you could ignite a hatred in me pretty easy."

Natasha gives a sad smile as she's walking out of the closet, dressed but for her stiletto boots. How Tony is fully dressed, Natasha doesn't even know. She thought her dressing speed was amazing enough already, but this? Good gods. "Not tonight," she says. "Maybe some other time."

"This implies that I'll be coming back."

She shrugs in an effort to show that it doesn't matter to her one way or another, but she really does want him back.

He notices. "Oh, you _do_ like me!" he says with a laugh, spinning over and wrapping his arms around her. "It's a good thing I plan on coming back, then."

She can't help but smile. "Really?"

He nods. "Me and my three friends are actually coming back tomorrow for Comedy Night!"

Natasha laughs. "That's brilliant! I don't usually start with any of the requests I've gotten until the show is over! The main comedian for the night is one of my best friends and I always watch him because he's fucking hilarious."

Tony smiles brightly. "I'll find you."

She rolls her eyes, pushing him away so she can sit on the chair and put on her boots. "No, _I'll_ find _you_. It can get pretty busy on Comedy Night. I'd suggest showing up _early_ if you want a decent seat."

He smiles, kissing the tip of her nose. Nobody's ever done that before either… "Deal. Now, about my wallet…" He turns towards the device on the wall and laughs. "I expected much more. Do you take checks?"

She nods. "We take anything."

"Oh goody. Do you get…any of the profit?"

"No, none of the four of us that are being forced to stay here get any. All of the profits go straight to the main amount, no matter how much extra it is."

Tony gives an incredulous look. "Four of you?" Then he shakes his head and sighs, pulling a pen out of a pocket and scribbling down on the check. "I won't leave any tip, then."

Natasha snorts, pressing her thumb to the pad that calls the maid service in. She is not _about_ to make her own bed.

Tony hands her the check, to which she stuffs into the slot in the wall where it will go to the place all the other payments are sent. "Come on, now," she says, taking Tony's hand. "I'll take you back out to the real world."

Tony laughs and lets her, the door locking behind them. The maids will be able to get in. They step to the side of the curtain so that anybody else can get past them if they need to, standing there for a few seconds, just looking around.

"So are you allowed to call me, or probably not?" Tony asks at length.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card, to which she takes without looking at it. She turns around to Heimdall, standing there, and hands him the card. "I'll be back for that," she says with a wink.

He nods at her, giving the tiniest of smiles. Natasha and Heimdall have always gotten along. He likes Clint and Steve, too, but he and Loki seem to have a bit of a sore spot when it comes to their relationship.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Natasha says, kissing his cheek.

Tony turns to smile at her, hands stuffed into his pockets. "You'll find me, right?" he asks.

She smiles and nods.

"Good." He rubs his nose against hers before walking off, disappearing into the crowd of bodies.

Natasha sighs happily, pushing one of her hands through her hair.

"_I believe you are getting in rather deep, Lady Natasha,"_ Heimdall's voice says into her head. Damn Guardian's.

She turns to him and sticks her tongue out. "You're just jealous because you don't have a tongue."

He rolls his eyes at her. _"I have never wanted one before."_

"Get yourself a mate, big boy, and call over my next victim, yeah?" she says, patting him on the shoulder.

He nods. _"Of course, Lady Natasha. The maids have just left."_

She smiles at him. "Thank you." And she disappears back behind the curtain, wishing she could sleep but instead preparing herself for another full night of people she'll have to pretend to laugh at and wish she could just suck all the blood from to leave their bodies in a pile. She really loves blood.

* * *

End branch authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of branch number 2! SEX. EVERYWHERE.

Anyway, for more species names! Loki and Natasha are the Duobus Diversis, which is "two different" in Latin, and then Clint is a Se Igennem, which is "see through" in Danish. Also for names, the way that Loki calls the Other "Kleiser"? In the comics the Other actually came down to earth disguised as a human and pretended to be German, calling himself Herr Kleiser. So that's where I got that haha. _And_ the name of Atlantis Du? Du is "two" in Esperanto, which is just a really long explanation as to why I chose that particular language and word and none of you will get it unless you watch Red Dwarf, so whatever :P

And yeah, like I said, jumping around a lot with the times and all. It's not really that I'm jumping, I'm just…putting them all in order? I don't know, hopefully it wasn't too confusing for you guys!

And that's that! The next branch is _short_ compared to the other two, simply because it's the "after sex" when they're all still in the building of the Skrull. So all the backgrounds are done and now we get to move on to more of the good stuff, woo!

Tell me what you think :) Or don't again, I'll love you all anyway!


	3. Part I, Branch III

**Part I, Branch III: The Afterward**

_PHIL  
Time: 22:21…_

Phil lets Steve escort him back to the main room of the Skrull, arm around his waist with Phil's at his side. He'd love to talk to him, but he doesn't know what to say. Steve didn't _mean_ that, did he? That wouldn't make any sense. He's met thousands of people down here. He's had _tons_ of clients. He doesn't _like_ like Phil… He just likes him as a person. Obviously.

"Charlene, hun," Steve says at the bar, "Two glasses of water, if you will?"

Poison Ivy gives him a smile and does so, winking at him when she sets down the glasses before sashaying off to do whatever else it is that she does.

"Will I ever see you again?" Steve asks Phil as he sips from his straw. Phil doesn't know a single person who drinks water with a straw.

"Well, I'm going to be here again tomorrow night for Comedy Night…" Phil says quietly.

Steve smiles brightly at him, and he can't help but think about what he said again.

"_What can I say? I like you."_

"That's brilliant," he says as bright as his smile. "You can expect me to greet you as soon as you walk in. Gonna get here early enough for your front seat again?"

Phil grins. "I can promise you that. Tony's probably going to want to get here even before it opens to see the Black Widow."

Steve laughs. "I take it Tony is the one she grabbed and kissed in her first song?"

Phil nods, taking another drink of water. He said he'd be fine without it, but he's really pretty glad he's got it now. "Yup, that's him. After he spun off he just touched his lips a lot and whispered about how he thinks he's in love. I didn't stay for too much long after that, of course."

Steve licks his lips and shrugs. "It's pretty common for a patron to fall in love with an employee around here. The tricky part is getting the employee to…" He takes a sip from his water, staring straight into Phil's eyes. "Love you back."

Phil is already drinking, so he forces himself to simply nod as he swallows. What does he say to that? Does he ask what he means? Gods, he's so bad with people. Even in his profession he's the matter-of-fact guy that Fury, his boss, doesn't like to let talk to anyone who calls them in. He sends him in when they need someone cold and calculating, not someone who will cry with you if your son's died.

"Usually the employees never feel the same way back," Steve continues, "because so many people come through here and you can never sift through enough to find the ones that aren't fake, or the ones that don't really care about you and just want to have a good time. Sometimes you get people like that in here, though…" He smiles warmly at Phil, standing right in front of him. Phil didn't notice how close he still was until now. They're not sitting on the stools, but standing between two of them. "Like you."

Phil blinks at him a couple of times before snorting. "I'm not as fun as you might think."

"No?" Steve asks, leaning onto the counter so that their faces are level. "How so?"

"You know what SHIELD is, right?"

"Of course. We get some of them in here every now and again."

"Yeah, well, I work for them, and not any of the fun parts. I also always turn my paperwork in on time."

Steve laughs. "Just because you turn your paperwork in on time doesn't mean you're boring. It just means you have your priorities set."

Phil shrugs, downing the last of his water. "Nonetheless, there's a reason I haven't been with anyone in over a year."

"Well _I_ think anyone would be lucky to have you," Steve whispers, leaning forward and kissing the tip of his nose. "I like you, remember?"

Phil's mouth goes dry even though he just drank an entire glass of water. "What"—he coughs. "What do you mean?"

Steve only gets as far as opening his mouth before a Chitauri shows up at their sides, tapping him on the shoulder.

Steve glares at him. "_Now_ what?"

"Your scheduled appointment is waiting for you, sir," the creature says.

Steve sighs, standing up straight. "I'm coming." He looks down at Phil, pushing his still half full water glass over to him. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" he says. "Don't break your promise, now." He turns away and starts walking, following after the Chitauri.

Phil picks up the glass and downs almost all of it, ignoring the straw. And, just as he's about to look away, Steve turns back and winks at him.

**OoOoOoO**

_BRUCE  
22:41_

Bruce makes his way out of the door and looks around for exactly four seconds before realizing he is _never_ going to find his friends—and that's if they're even out here. So he takes a deep breath, stands up a little straighter, and turns around to face the man guarding the entrance known as Heimdall.

"Um, excuse me…" he says, forcing himself not to bite his lip.

The man is already looking at him. _"You are looking for your friends,"_ his voice says into his mind. _"Two of them are here."_ He holds up an arm and points. _"Walk straight that way and you will find them at the first table you reach."_

Bruce smiles up at him. "Thank you," he says. He heads off in the direction he was shown, excusing his way politely through the crowd. Just as he was told, the first table he comes to holds five chairs, two of them occupied by Phil and Thor. Thor looks rather solemn even though he gives Bruce a bright smile, and Phil doesn't even acknowledge him even though he's facing right at him.

"Hey, guys," Bruce says, sitting down beside Phil. "What I miss?"

"I had a night with the man known as the Prince of Frost," Thor says, "and Phillip met with the Captain America."

Bruce nods. "Yeah, Prince of Frost, God of Fire or whatever. Cl—erm, Hawkeye mentioned him before I left with him."

Thor smiles. "And how was that, my friend?"

Bruce breathes a laugh. "Let's just say amazing and be done with it, yeah? How about yours?"

He smirks, looking down at his drink. "The same as yours," he says. "I am to meet with him again tomorrow." He looks back up. "I am not sure if we will end up in bed again or if we will simply watch the show. It is to be his day off."

Bruce nods. "Yeah, it was my guy's night off as well." He looks over at Phil, who's still just staring straight ahead of himself. So Bruce reaches over and snaps his fingers in front of his face, saying, "Phil, buddy, snap out of it."

Phil snaps back and looks around, finding Bruce and smiling lightly. "Hey, Bruce. Didn't see you there."

Bruce blinks at him before turning to Thor, who just nods and says, "He has been like that since I returned to him about ten minutes ago. He was here twenty minutes before I and has just been holding seats for us for when we return."

"Huh?" Phil says. "Like what?"

"Dazed, my friend," Thor says to him. "You are thinking too hard about your Captain."

Phil mutters unintelligibly to himself, the only thing Bruce catches something that sounds like he's making fun of how Thor called him "_my_ Captain America".

"You obviously like him," Bruce says, patting his shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that. Tony's apparently in love with the Black Widow chick, Thor is meeting up again with the Prince of Frost, and my Hawkeye's got today off and is going to just come sit with us pretty soon."

Phil smiles warmly at him, propping his elbow onto the table and resting his head against his hand. "Yours gets to stay with you today?" he asks quietly.

Bruce nods in understanding. "No _wonder_ you guys are so quiet," Bruce says, patting Phil's shoulder again and sending Thor a look. "_Your_ boys have other clients they need to work with."

They each just sigh in response, an obvious yes to his question.

Bruce nods. "Well…do you guys know where Tony is? We could leave when he gets back out. You probably don't want to sit here pining over them."

"Sounds good to me," Thor says.

"Hey, Bruce?" Phil asks quietly.

"Yeah?" Bruce says, turning back to him.

"Is it okay if I stay over at your place tonight?"

Bruce smiles warmly at him. Contrary to the belief of most people that have ever met him, Phil does not actually like being alone. Maybe he can be rather cold and seem like he doesn't like somebody, but Bruce has known him long enough that he knows how to take it and deal with it. Phil really does like people, and when he's working he knows exactly how they work, but as soon as he's around somebody that he really likes he starts to get shy and flustered. Bruce has only seen him like that with one person, and that was a woman he hasn't seen in over a year because she moved away to Oregon. So, when Phil feels down, he likes to stay over with Bruce so he doesn't have to be alone. If he is alone he'll just wallow in his misery a little too much, or he'll go in to work all night and the entirety of the next day without allowing himself any time to sleep.

"'Course you can," Bruce says, mussing up what little hair he has. He always keeps it so short. Thor's is too long, Bruce just forgets to get his cut until it gets into his eyes, and Tony's is always styled perfectly. "I could always use somebody taking up my couch."

Phil just nods and leans down against the table, forehead to the wood.

"I will refill your drink, my friend," Thor says, standing. "Would you like anything, Bruce?"

"Oh!" Bruce almost forgot. "I'll pay you back. I just want a lemonade—_actual_ lemonade—and I'm getting Hawkeye an—"

"Absolut Vodka," a voice says behind him.

Phil is still dazed and leaning against the table, but Thor looks up and Bruce turns around to see Clint smiling warmly down at him. He's in a t-shirt one solid color that is a sort of mixture between salmon and pink, with tight black pants and black suede boots that lace up to his knees. His eyeliner is reapplied since crying, and his nails are painted the same deep purple as some of the feathers were.

"Hey," he says to Bruce, pushing his fingers through his hair. He gives Phil a tiny snort and then smiles at Thor. "Clint," he says, holding his hand out.

Thor smiles at him, taking and shaking his hand. "I am Thor. Our friend here is Phillip. I will return shortly with your drinks!" He heads off, towering above most of the other patrons.

Bruce looks back up at Clint. "He usually just goes by Phil," he says.

"I figured," Clint says.

Bruce is about to offer him the seat beside him, but instead Clint sits on his lap. "How much longer are you guys going to be here?" he asks, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck.

Bruce shrugs, taking Phil's glass and finishing off the few sips that are left of it. Water? How dull.

"Is he drunk?" Clint asks.

"Nooo," Phil voice comes in a whine. "My heart hurts."

Clint gives him an apologetic look even though he can't see it. "Got a bad case of the stripper blues, sweetheart?"

Phil drops his head to the side so he can see him. "Yes."

"Which one?"

"Steve."

Clint smiles. "He told you his name?"

"Yeah. I see you told Bruce yours, too. Clint, was it?"

Bruce pushes at his shoulder. "I thought you were _dazed_."

"And I thought _you_ weren't going to sleep with anyone here," he challenges.

Bruce rolls his eyes, turning his head back towards the table. "Never mind, go back to being drunk."

Clint giggles. "I thought you said you expected to _pay_ for sex tonight," he says.

"Well, I did as soon as I left with you," Bruce says to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. "But it seems like we've all been doing rather a lot of thinking lately. I don't like it. Let's stop."

Clint laughs, holding him back. "Alright, yeah. I'll just get you drunk on…what did you get? Lemonade?"

Bruce shrugs. "I'm the designated driver for the night. I didn't even finish my first margarita because of you."

Clint snorts, pushing his fingers through Bruce's hair. "How noble of you." He kisses the top of his head. "I'll give you some of my vodka."

Bruce gives a good natured eye roll. "Yeah, thanks."

Clint smiles and looks over at Phil, forehead back against the wood. "So let me get this straight," he says to Bruce. "You're with me, he was with Cap, and your friend Tony is with the Black Widow?"

Bruce nods. "And Thor just got back from the Prince of Frost."

Clint's eyes widen substantially. "You mean to tell me that all four of you were with all four of us numbers tonight?"

Bruce's eyes widen as well. "I—yeah. I never thought about it that way. Wow."

"Wow in_deed_. You guys must be packin'… Poor Thor, though. He'll never get the Prince of Fire. He doesn't like people."

Bruce sighs as well, looking over to where Thor is walking back, somehow balancing three drinks in his giant hands. "Yeah," he says. "Looks like we're all in trouble." He's referring to the fact that Clint isn't allowed to leave and wouldn't anyway, of course.

Clint leans down to his ear. "Guess what? None of the four of us are allowed to leave. They're the three best friends I was talking about."

Bruce's jaw drops. "No, they can't be. They have to…" He grits his teeth. "I'm getting you out," he whispers back. "I don't _care_ what happens, Clint. We'll shut this place down."

Clint just kisses his forehead. "Good luck, babe," he whispers. "Good luck."

Bruce can only sigh.

**OoOoOoO**

_TONY…  
23:09_

"Heyuh!" Tony says brightly, spinning into a seat once he finds his three friends…and friend of Bruce. "Who are you?"

He's not _dressed_ like one of "the girls", but who else would be sitting on Bruce's lap? Not that Bruce isn't gorgeous enough to get someone, he's just too shy to flirt back well enough. Even the bloke before probably would have left if he wasn't getting paid. So who is _this_? He's damn attractive, sure, he's just…well, not Natasha, so Tony's not really looking.

The guy gives him a smile that knocks Tony off his feet—it doesn't matter _if_ he's not Natasha, Tony's got a Smile Rival. Yes, it's an actual title that Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Phil have come up with. Tony's got one hell of a smile and he knows it, so when he's got somebody that could possible have a better one…well, it ain't small news.

"This is Clint," Bruce says, arms around his waist. This Clint guy has one hand holding a glass and the other arm around Bruce's shoulders.

"Hey," he says with a wink. "You must be Tony. Just got back from 'Tasha?"

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah."

He laughs a little, fingers of the arm around Bruce's shoulder playing absentmindedly with the fabric of the dark grey top. "You're one of _those_ guys, then."

"I—what? No, I—"

"Hey man, no excuses. I'm the same way." He winks again.

Tony gives a nervous laugh. "Actually I, uh…no. I'm not. We didn't—er, she didn't…um. No."

Clint gives a sort of snort. "I _almost_ caught that."

Tony waves his hand at him. "Never mind, you can ask her later. She'll probably explain it better anyway." He looks over at Phil, face down on the table. "Uh…" He looks over at Thor. "Passed out?"

Thor shakes his head. "He is sulking."

"Sulking? Over _what_?"

"The Captain of Patriotism."

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "Captain America? The guy that got us our drinks?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

"Because he's so preeetttyyy," Phil whines, face still against the table.

Tony laughs, kicking him lightly under the table. "Come on, we can't _both_ fall in love with our stars."

Clint and Bruce giggle.

Tony looks over at them, nose wrinkled up. "What's so funny?"

Clint shakes his head and Bruce takes a sip of his…lemonade? "Nothing," Bruce says, arm tightening around Clint's waist.

Tony suddenly recognizes him. "Wait a minute, you're that Hawkeye guy! Bruuuce, not all _three_ of us!"

"Possibly four of us…" Thor says quietly, hiding behind his ale.

Tony snorts, but instead of answering he grabs whatever Phil's got and takes a swig of it. It's warm and watered down, so it's been there a _very_ long time. "Alright, who's ditching with me?"

"I will," Thor says at the same time Phil mumbles his "yes" as well.

Bruce sighs. "I should come too…"

Clint breathes a laugh, kissing the top of his head. Tony can't help but smile. Why isn't he dressed up like he used to be? Natasha gets a night off because she's a number, and so is this guy, so this must be his day.

"Don't worry, Brucey-kins," he whispers, rubbing at his arm. "You'll see me tomorrow."

Bruce laughs, leaning his head against his chest. "Yeah, in your _true_ light."

"Huh?" Tony can't help but butt in.

Clint gives another Smile Rival. "Hawkeye's head of Comedy Night."

"Yeah, right, so…you have tonight off?"

"Um…" He and Bruce share a look before Clint gives Tony a half-grin. "Sort of."

Tony snorts, standing up. "Alright, whatever. Bruce, you're driving. Make your magic, meet us outside. Thor, you got Phil?"

Thor nods, setting down his empty ale and standing to gather up their friend. Why he's so down about Cap, Tony doesn't know. He seemed to like him enough when he brought them their drinks. Then again, it _is_ just his job. Just like Tony is just Natasha's job…

He sighs, dropping down some bills. "I hate clubs," he mutters. Then, to Clint before he walks away, "You better be funny."

Clint grins. "Trust me."

**OoOoOoO**

_LOKI  
03:12…_

Loki would have collapsed a couple hours ago if he didn't take energy pills between clients. Two an hour for the last four hours, with Thor before and one more afterwards? That's a lot of work. He only came for two of them, one being Thor and another being the sixth one in. He doesn't remember his name, but he felt pretty good. Sometimes people pay him more to keep going until he comes, but none did tonight and he's thrilled for that. He also gets paid _not_ to come because some don't like the sensation, and Loki's fine with that as well.

Now he's had his water and more pills, and he's off to Kleiser on the floor above (the ground floor), dressed in what Loki knows is his favorite outfit: loose, low hanging dark jeans, black boxers bunched over the top, and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes, not even any make-up. He likes the piercings, though. He likes to drag his claws down the sides of the jeans and simply rip them away to ravish Loki against the bed—or wherever else he decides to do so. It's simple, to be honest. Sometimes he likes Loki in show clothes, or what he wears between times (with the v-neck and suede boots), but most of the time he just wants him in jeans that he can rip away.

Loki takes a deep breath and knocks quietly on Kleiser's door.

"Come in," he says in the English tongue. He tends to speak his native language more often, but he knows that Loki doesn't understand it. Natasha does because she's been around all of them for twenty-two years, but Loki's not that good yet. He knows certain sounds and all of the names of the English Chitauri, but that's as far as his knowledge goes.

Loki silently pushes open the door, stepping just inside. The room is very spacious, decorated in royal blue, gold, and silver. The bed is round, with a comforter set the softest that Loki has ever dealt with. He has the same material in his own bedroom.

"You wanted to see me?" he asks quietly.

Kleiser motions for Loki to shut the door, so Loki does, leaning against it and gritting his teeth as he feels the vibration of the locks.

"I thought we could do a little shopping tomorrow," Kleiser says as Loki shuffles over to him.

"For what?" Loki asks, crawling onto the bed. He goes immediately to Kleiser's arms, holding onto him as though it were affectionate. In reality, of course, he wishes he could just cry.

"Anything you take a fancy to." He wraps an arm around him, all six fingers holding him possessively. Not sexually, but simply holding him. They do a lot of pleasant talking as well as forced sex, but it's the forced sex that makes Loki so despise the pleasant talking. "You were talking about wanting new sunglasses for the roof, yes?"

Loki nods. "And a…" He swallows, holding back the cries he knows he'll be shouting within the hour. "Another piercing in my left ear."

"You did not wear earrings tonight, correct?"

"Yes, because they were sore."

"Another black diamond, or would you prefer a more precious stone?"

Loki shrugs. "I have far too many rubies and sapphires. Maybe simply a ring?"

Kleiser hums in response. "On the top rim or another on your earlobe?"

"The top."

"Then yes, we will get it done tomorrow. Will you be sunbathing before or afterwards?"

"Before. I want to get my strength up be_fore_ I go traipsing all around town."

"Yes, that is a…" His hands begin to roam. "Good idea."

Loki braces himself for the night ahead with a deep breath before simply launching straight into it, knowing he would rather be rough and feral as for it to be over with quicker than going slowly so it doesn't hurt as much. Some occasions Kleiser refuses and _wants_ to take Loki slowly, but most of the Chitauri are nothing _but_ rough, so it is not as difficult to persuade him.

The Chitauri are…well, not human. Their basic structure is human_like_, but there's a bit more to it than that. The thing Loki has grown the most familiar with, on the off hand, are their reproductive systems. They are a species that does not have gender-specific ones, so they all have a "penis". They are a species wherein they can all get pregnant via the "back entrance", as can Loki since he is part Frost Giant, so he's very glad he's been on the pill for as long as he's been here at the Skrull.

The Chitaurian penises are…not pleasant. The best way Loki could describe them to either Steve, Natasha, or Clint was by telling them that it's like a human tongue. Which it is, though mixed slightly with the tentacle of an octopus. It doesn't get hard like a human penis, it's simply a muscle that…moves on its own accord. Like a tentacle it wiggles and extends out of the body of the Chitauri as they become aroused, and like a tongue it pushes its way into wherever it's going. In this case, Loki's backside, in which no lube is necessary considering that it is already slickened by the fact that is always inside of the Chitauri body unless aroused, in a sort of…pocket of fliuds.

They do use the same organ to urinate, it just stays inside, so they are more like human females in that sense. Blowjobs are not particularly pleasant either, unless you are _very_ into French kissing and having a length that tends to wrap around your own tongue, or even begin to make its way down your throat without you being able to stop it.

Loki's endured everything that it can do many a time, and each and every time he has to force himself not to puke. He's gotten so used to never puking that any day that he's actually sick is turned into two or three days simply because his body refuses to empty the contents of his stomach to get rid of the virus. It doesn't matter _what_ pills Loki takes to get himself to throw up, he physically cannot do it. He's stuck with anything in his stomach until the end. Even when he's drunk he can only lie there moaning.

Since the Chitauri penis moves on its own, there's never a need for the pumping of hips. There's always a little of it out of the sheer pleasures of the link-up (or in Loki's case the need to get it over with so he can _get away_), but it doesn't _need_ it if the dominant partner is a Chitauri. Thus, whatever position they end up in, there's hardly any movement at all. Loki actually hates it. He loves being on the move. He's always been the restless sort, wanting to go somewhere for no reason. He's glad that Kleiser takes him shopping all the time, he just wishes he'd take him on a vacation or something. Hawaii, maybe? Loki likes the heat. Then again, Loki also likes the cold, so maybe they'll plan a trip to Alaska to watch the Iditarod instead. The Chitauri don't mind the temperature either, whatever it is.

Loki's learned to get through it all. He knows no other species that, of those that have been with a Chitauri (a number that is not large), have been able to make it through an entire sexual encounter with one of them. Most are revolted by the entire concept. On the off hand, Loki doesn't know _everybody_, and he's sure there are a few out there who get off on having a tongue/tentacle inside of…wherever they have.

Loki despises it, but he can do it. It hurts sometimes, and he'd rather just cry—or puke—or kill himself…but he does it, if not for the only reason that he knows he can. If he can't escape the Skrull then he'll prove to everyone who sees him that he can _survive_ in it, and not with anybody's help. Maybe he's got his three friends, but he doesn't _need_ them.

When Clint and Steve hadn't gotten here yet and it was just him and Natasha they hated each other, and Loki was just _fine_ on his own. The only reason he became friends with her was because Clint showed up and all but forced his and Loki's friendship, and since he and Natasha had a thing for a while he had to hang out with her as well. Clint is just so charismatic, and no matter how much you hate him you have to love him. He's got this smile that can light up worlds. Loki used to have a smile like that, but after he gave up trying to escape…well, he doesn't use it anymore. He's heard the whispers that people have about him, the patrons and other employees alike.

"_Legend has it he used to smile at _everyone_. It was a smile that could end worlds. Now, though, he won't even acknowledge you unless you're in his room for a private dance. He only knows your name because it's on the list and there's a sum of money beside it."_

They used to hurt, because they know _nothing_. They don't know _anything_ about what Loki has to go through to _survive_. What happens if he refuses? He's punished, and nothing minor. The last one he had to endure whipped scars up and down his back. The lash that was used still sits in the room they did it in, Loki's dried blood still crusted onto it. Kleiser covered them with glammors before they scarred, and then he was taken to get them surgically removed. Nobody asked Loki where he got them…how…who had done it to him. They knew what happened, but they still did _nothing_. Loki holds no grudges, though…they would have been killed. He wouldn't have done anything either.

So Loki decided that he'd no longer see his life here as a game of escape, but a test of survival. A test that involves three friends he doesn't need, a sun that he does, and a lot of money. And tonight, one more thing… Loki used to visualize Clint's smile to get through things because it was so easy to distract himself, but tonight? Tonight he pictures Thor—and maybe everything will be okay. Maybe surviving will be that much easier. Maybe—just maybe—surviving will be a game of escape again.

* * *

End branch/part authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of branch number 3 _and_ of part 1! Yay meet up, sex, and the afterward :P Not much notes for this branch, considering the length of it. Oh but yes, I did skip Thor's part in here and replace it with Loki's at the end. I didn't want to do one for Thor because it'd honestly be like less than a page long or whatever.

And I _was_ going to write out the actual sex scene between Loki and Klesier, but…I don't know, I wasn't feelin' it. Either way, that's the end of that :) Part II, here we come!

Tell me what you think :)


	4. Part II, Branch I

**Part II: Comedy Night**

**Part II, Branch I: Two for the Show**

_PHIL  
Time: 20:07…_

"Hurry _up_, Phil!" Tony says, pulling on the back of his suit jacket as Phil stares into the window of the Skrull. The main building is underground, yet there are windows above ground. Does somebody live up here? The shades are drawn, but the window itself is decorated to the extreme to show the world what's beneath them. Maybe this Other character lives there?

"Do not make us leave you up here, Phillip," Thor says sternly.

Phil sighs, turning away from the window. The show doesn't even start for another fifty-three minutes, it's not like they're going to miss it. Bruce gets Hawkeye hosting Comedy Night, Thor gets the Prince of Frost with his night off, Tony gets whatever he wants no matter what anyway, and Phil…well… He sighs again. Phil gets a big, fat pot of confusion.

"_What can I say? I like you."_

What the hell is Phil supposed to do with that? He's a policeman and Steve's a singer/waiter/porn star. How would he tell his boss? _"Heyuh, Fury, how are you? This is my boyfriend, Captain America. He works at the Chitaurian strip club."_ Not going to work. Steve wants out, though. Phil knows that much. He's good at what he does and he can do it with a smile on his face, sure, but how many people actually _want_ to be something like that? Not Steve. Phil's good enough at his job that he at least knows that much. Besides, the research he did about him on the internet last night has him highly suspicious about—

Bruce rests a hand on his shoulder, cutting off his thoughts. "Phil, please?" he asks quietly. "You'll see him again tonight and you can figure it out."

Phil gives him a soft smile. He likes Bruce. Tony and Thor are good for each other because they like to get drunk and have sex, but Bruce and Phil are good for each other because they both like silence and are good at being quiet.

"Alright," he says, nodding. "Let's go."

"It's Comedy Night, man!" Tony says. "That means laughter!" He pats him hard on the back. "Let's hear a lot from you tonight, yeah?"

Phil just nods at him, letting his three friends go down in front of him like yesterday. That's how it always is, to be honest. Tony first because he's the most charismatic and can speak every language they encounter, Thor next because he's biggest and the most intimidating, Bruce "hiding" behind Thor in the middle so nobody decides to pick on him and make him Hulk out somehow, and Phil in the back so he can use everything he's learned at SHIELD to protect the rear. It's what they're used to and what they like.

The initial entrance is smoky again before clearing up, and Phil can't help but smile at the place. It's honestly very nice, especially for something created by the Chitauri. How they can make something so decent when they're so disgusting is completely beyond Phil's comprehension.

"Phil!" a voice rings out, and Phil's entire body freezes up.

Tony announces that he, Thor, and Bruce are going to get their table, and Bruce gives a reassuring smile before going off with them.

There's not a crowd enough for them to disappear in it, but it seems like they do. Phil has never felt so alone. Except when he turns around, he's never felt more the opposite. He feels together and full and _gods_ this cannot be happening.

Phil gets about half of "hey" out before he's being kissed, Steve's gloved hands taking his own and pulling them up between their chests. Phil stumbles back a little bit after Steve releases him, reaching a hand up to trace his fingers over his lips.

"Oh," he says breathlessly. "Hi."

Steve smiles brightly at him. "Did you sleep well?"

Phil keeps his face completely blank. No he did _not_ sleep well, thank you very much. "Yeah," he says instead, smiling warmly up at him. "I slept great. I stayed over and used Bruce's couch. I mean, uh, one of the friends I was with."

Steve grins. "I heard _all_ about Bruce from Hawkeye."

Phil purses his lips. "Clint?"

Steve nods. "He's convinced they're soul mates."

"You and him hang out?"

"Oh, he's one of my three best friends here! Also the Black Widow that Tony slept with and the Prince of Frost that took on your friend Thor." He breathes a laugh. "All four of you got all four of us. That's never happened before."

Phil gives a nervous laugh. "Yeah, we, uh…like the best, I guess."

"Speaking of the best…" Steve whips his shield off of his back. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Actually, I was, um…" He looks down at the ground and kicks at it with his foot. "I'll have one of your margaritas."

He's suddenly being kisses again, the shield back on Steve's back. "Wanna go?" he whispers into his ear.

Phil holds his breath so he doesn't moan, instead giving a fervent nod. He knows its Comedy Night, but he doesn't care. There's always next week. He just wants Steve, and he wants him _bad_.

How did Clint word it? A bad case of the stripper blues? Yeah. That's it. Phil is falling in love with a man who wears a red and white striped skirt, waits on tables, and makes a _mean_ margarita. Right.

**OoOoOoO**

_THOR  
20:10…_

Anthony laughs as their waiter walks away, Thor having ordered the only thing he ever orders: ale. "Look, look, they're going already," he says, pointing.

Thor and Bruce turn to see that Phillip is being lead along by the Captain, a smile so large on both of their faces that Thor cannot help but smile as well.

Bruce smiles as well. "What do you guys think about the note Phil got yesterday? Really just his call number?"

"Psh, no way," Anthony says, flitting his wrist. "It was probably some sappy poem."

Thor furrows his eyebrows. "I believe it was not but an invitation to the bar counter. It is where he went after reading it, correct?"

"Yeah, but he was seeing about smoking, remember?" Anthony asks.

Thor gives him a little bit of a condescending look. "You truly believe that is what he was doing? It would not have taken so long if he had not."

"Whatever," he says, flitting his wrist. "Where the _fuck_ is the bathroom? I don't even know how I got through the night without using that thing."

Thor points. "Tis in that direction. I asked last night after emerging from the presence of the Prince of Frost."

"You can use my _name_, you know," a voice says behind him. It is directly into his ear, and if Thor's arms had not been frosted to the table he would have accidentally punched Loki in the face at the surprise.

The frost disappears and Thor turns to smile at Loki, moving to stand across from him. He is holding a short glass of whiskey and there is a cigarette in his mouth. He is in the same pants and lace up suede boots that he was wearing when not in his show outfit, but now his shirt is a dull green tank top with a low scoop, showing off the black collar, and his hair is slicked back instead of sticking out in multiple directions.

"I thought we weren't allowed to smoke in here!" Anthony says with a frown.

Loki gives him a condescending smirk, reaching up to breath into his face. "_You're_ not for safety purposes, but since I _work_ here…" He grinds the cigarette into the table. "Well, I do what I want." He turns to look at Thor, leaning over and grinning at him. "Hi."

Thor smiles brightly at him. "You found me," he says.

"Of course I found you," Loki says with a snort, looking around the room, downing the little amount left of the whiskey. "There's hardly a soul here. You showed up only a few minutes after opening time. Nobody comes right when it opens." He gives him a small smile, eyes darting some more. "Have you been helped yet?"

Thor nods, looking Loki over. His eyes make-up is not as dark as it was yesterday, just a simple layer of eyeliner, and his fingernails are again black. There is a glistening just below his hair, though… Thor knows now about Loki's submissive issues, so instead of just reaching over to push the hair behind his ear, he asks him if he can.

Loki blinks at him. "Excuse me?"

"May I push your hair behind your ear?"

Loki licks his lips and does it himself. "The earring?" he asks, not touching it.

Thor nods, leaning in closer to see it better. It is simply a silver ring on the top rim of his ear, glistening in the light of the Skrull. When they got here yesterday the lights were dimmer, but they are probably brighter because they have so recently opened.

"I got it this morning," Loki says, giving him a warm smile. "I'll probably get a scaffold within the month."

Thor furrows his eyebrows. "I have no idea what that is."

Loki breathes a laugh, reaching his hand up and motioning as he speaks. "It just goes across the top space here, under the rim and then out the other end. There are other kinds of it too, but that's the specific one I want. Knowing me, though, I'll probably end up with another ring beside the stud in my nose and a ring on my bottom lip. You know, on the left side? I've always wanted one but never been able to because a lot of clients get bothered by the metal during kisses." He shrugs. "I honestly don't give a damn, but my boss would be…annoyed as well."

Thor is about to speak, but Loki suddenly whips his head around, staring over at the door that leads to all of the bedrooms for private dances. "_Now_?" he says. There is a moment of silence before, "I swear to the gods, if this is about—" Another pause. "Alright, al_right_." He looks back at Thor. "I'll be right back." He plants a swift kiss on his cheek before combusting into flames, reappearing back over by the Man at the Door.

Anthony instantly bursts into laughter. "_That's_ your Prince of Frost? _That's_ the one you think you're falling in love with?"

Thor gives him a glare that could turn you to stone if he happened to be a Child of Medusa. Thank the gods he is not, or Anthony would never again seen the light of day. "And what is it about him that you so dislike?"

"He's so…jumpy. Did you see the way his eyes were darting around? He wouldn't even let you push his hair behind his ear and you _asked_ him if you could do it. What's up with that?"

Thor gives a gruff sound. "There is nothing wrong with being weary about a man you have only just met." He does not want to tell them about the submissive issues. He may not want them repeated.

"Psh, whatever. He's got some baggage, dude."

"Thank you, Anthony. I am aware."

"Oh, come on, Thor, I'll even help you find somebody else who—"

Thor bends his head just right, in such a way that he knows the light catches his eyes and makes them glow red for a split second. His friends know full well what that means, and Anthony quick snaps his mouth shut and looks away.

"Sorry," he says hurriedly.

Thor is glad that their drinks come then.

"_I_ think he's nice," Bruce says. "There's nothing wrong with baggage. It's probably not even something that could be called that. He works here, correct? He simply has a dark past that makes it hard for him to get close to people. You both know I'm not very good at that either, which is why I didn't plan on sleeping with anyone yesterday."

"Then Clint came along," Anthony says with a smirk. "He seemed pretty cool. He better be fucking hilarious or I will sick my giant green friend on him."

Bruce bristles a little bit, and Thor cannot help but frown as well. "Is there something wrong, Anthony?" he asks.

"Seriously, Tone," Bruce says, staring into his glass. "You're sort of being a dick."

Anthony frowns. "I am not."

"You are too."

Anthony grumbles and leans down against the table. "Maybe a little bit…"

"Maybe a lot," Thor says, lifting his ale to his lips.

"Alright, alright, I get it, sorry. I'm fucking horny, okay?"

Thor gives him a warm smile. "You are afraid that we will all get our men and you will be left without your woman."

Anthony snorts, looking up at him with a small smile. "How the fuck can you just look at somebody and know this shit? What are you, a Se Igennem?"

Thor pats him lightly on the back. "It will be alright, Anthony. Woo her and she will fall for you."

Anthony laughs, smiling up at him. "If only it were that simple, big guy."

Loki combusts back right then, effectively ending the conversation. He is standing up beside Thor, leaning over to whisper into his ear: "Do you want to watch the show?"

Thor shrugs. "It is not in my particular interest, though I'm sure it will be entertaining."

"Mmm…wanna go?"

Thor smiles at him. "You do not want to watch your friend?"

"I see him every Thursday," he says, flitting his wrist. "You, on the other hand, I've only just met."

"You guys are going already, too?" Bruce asks.

Loki gives him a dark look. "You're Bruce?" he asks, walking slowly over to him.

Bruce instantly sinks into his chair a little bit, and Thor resists the urge from telling Loki not to hurt them. He would not. "Yes?" Bruce squeaks.

Loki smiles at him, but it does not reach his eyes. "You're just as cute as I was told you were." He looks over at Anthony. "And you are Anthony?"

Anthony gives a cocky smile. "What's it to yuh?"

Loki is beside him in an instant, hands gripping onto the front of his shirt, eyes glowing red, and teeth bared. "If you hurt her I will _end_ you," he growls an inch away from his face.

Anthony does not look frightened, but he does cock an eyebrow. "You mean Natasha?"

Loki gives a disgusted look, letting go of him. "_Yes_ I mean Natasha. There is no other 'her' that I care about."

Anthony smiles at him. "Hey now, the only way I'll hurt her is if she likes me, right? Did she tell you she likes me?"

Loki blinks at him. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he replies dully, walking back over to Thor. "She won't lie to you. Well…" He smirks. "She might." He takes Thor's hand, looking over at him with just his eyes. "Come on, I want you. I'm free tonight."

Thor cocks an eyebrow, downing the last of his ale. "Free?" he asks, pointing at Bruce as he goes, who nods. Since he bought the vodka yesterday, Bruce bought him his first ale tonight.

"Because I'm off request for the night," he says. "I'm free because it's my night off."

Thor smiles. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I was fully prepared to pay again."

Loki smiles, pulling him along. "Looks like you won't have to."

As Loki turns around from facing Thor he almost runs smack into a woman, obviously another one of "the girls".

She says something to him in a language that Thor doesn't understand.

Loki groans. "Vera, for the last time, _I do not speak Urdu_."

She gives a tiny groan as well before glancing over at Thor and then shaking her head and staring wide-eyed at Loki. "It's your night off."

Loki blinks at her. "A brilliant observation."

"Who's he?"

Loki licks his lips. "A patron."

"But it's you're night off."

"We've been over this, yes."

"Then what's he doing with you?"

Loki looks like he is about to explode. "I'm going to fuck him until he sees stars, you uneducated cunt!" he snaps at her. "What the fuck do you think he's doing with me? Counting how many pairs of shoes I have? Go tell your fucking friends that I _like him_. I'm allowed to like somebody, am I not? Just because I hate everybody _else_ doesn't mean there are not _exceptions_."

Vera looks torn because crying and rolling her eyes. Thor is not sure how that works precisely, but it is probably because they are all so used to him at the same time that he is still offensive.

Eventually she chooses to give an exasperated eye roll. "You're allowed, it's just _weird_. I'll try to tell everyone to leave you alone about, but I suggest getting ready for a flood instead."

Loki growls a sigh. "Thank you."

She nods and stalks off.

Thor looks after her, turning around just as they are going past the Man at the Door. "Is there any particular reason that you are so cold to your fellow employees?" he asks.

"I don't want to talk about it," Loki says.

Thor pulls on him just right that he spins around and against his chest, Thor's hands resting against his shoulders. "If I had not become a businessman," he says to him, "I would have become a psychiatrist. I am not a Se Igennem, but I am still good at it. Would you please tell me?"

Loki bites his bottom lip. "A psychiatrist to a _construction business_?"

Thor tilts his head slightly. "And how was it that you knew I was in the business of construction?" he asks. "I did not tell you."

Loki is beautiful when he blushes. "I saw your building when I got my earring," he says, continuing to pull Thor along. Thor very much notices the fact that they pass the door they went in yesterday. "Asgardian Enterprise, correct?"

"Indeed. It was originally Odinson Construction, but there were some difficulties, and it had to be changed." The company was originally started by Thor's father, but Thor disowned him about five years back on account of finding he had lied and cheated to get himself to the top. "How did you know, though? The building does not have my name on it."

Loki shrugs. "I asked Kleiser. He knew. I just questioned him about the building with the lightning bolt logo." He stops in front of a door in the very near back. "We're here."

Thor cocks an eyebrow. "Why a different room?"

"Because there are cameras in my room."

Thor frowns as Loki punches in the key code and pushes open the door. "Cameras?" The room is very dull, simply with a bed and a small desk with tissues and lube, a small trashcan underneath the desk.

"Yes," he says, locking the door with three different clamps after they are inside.

"What for?"

Loki gives him a sad look, motioning to the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," he says, following him over. "You want to be my psychiatrist, we're going to be here a long time."

The first thing Thor does when he is seated with his back resting against the headboard is grab the box of tissues, setting it beside him as Loki is seating himself at the end of the bed.

Loki stares at the box before looking up at Thor, a warm smile on his lips. "It all started when I was ten years old…"

**OoOoOoO**

_TONY  
20:24…_

"Isn't there, like, a club in here or something?" Tony asks, looking around for the bathroom Thor talked about earlier.

"You mean the dancing kind?" Bruce asks.

"Yeah, that kind."

"Uh, not specifically. On Saturday night they have their Dance Night, but there's another dancing club a lot more popular than this one because it's open every night but Sunday. I'm pretty sure it's run by the same people."

"You mean the Chitauri?"

"Yeah, them."

"Lame. We should come back on Monday."

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because it's Natasha's night off and I want to…" He trails off, blowing out of his mouth. He shouldn't tell Bruce that she's being forced to stay here. "You know, not pay?"

Bruce blinks at him. "Clint's not allowed to leave either," he whispers.

Tony sits up a little straighter. "What, really?"

Bruce nods. "I'm pretty sure all four with numbers aren't allowed out."

"Just the four with numbers?"

"They're the best, aren't they? Why would they need to force the others? You can pay anybody off the street to sleep with you, but our four are _good_."

"We've got to get them out."

Bruce nods. "Phil doesn't know about Steve yet. I edged around it when he came over last night. Do you now if Thor knows?"

"No idea, but the way he's trying to take care of that Prince of Frost guy makes it seem like he does and he just doesn't want us to know yet."

"Good point. We'll just have to tell them tomorrow at lunch, yeah?"

"No, Phil's going to ditch out on us again. We're not coming back here tomorrow, so how about we all have dinner at my place?"

"Thor's not going to want to leave Mjölnir at home again, though…"

Tony groans, dragging his hands down his face. Mjölnir is Thor's pet "dog". They call it a dog, but that's just because it's easiest to explain to strangers. It's a mutt, descended from all _sorts_ of animals. It's the size of a Great Dane but looks like a golden retriever with the fur style of a Siberian husky, has one green eye and one yellow, and the fangs of a cobra. Its snout is more like that of a dragon, not to mention its snakelike tongue and pupils and the occasional sneeze of a fire ball. Its tail is short and stubby, and it has a sharp claw sticking out of the bending point of each of its legs. There are little horns on the tops of its head, and the fact that it doesn't blink is creepy as _fuck_ when it's just sitting there _watching_ when Tony's over at Thor's having sex. It's great when you need something to cuddle with or need a reason to get outside, but it also sheds a lot and makes Tony's house smell like a fireplace.

"I guess I'll be using up a lot of air fresheners, then," he mutters, standing up. "I gotta pee."

"Me too," Bruce says, "but I'll wait here so nobody takes our table."

Tony snorts, downing his scotch. "Taking turns going to the bathroom. I love it."

When Bruce comes back he moves out of his side seat and takes the one beside Tony, and a waitress comes by and gets them more drinks.

It's almost another half an hour before the show starts, but Tony's sure it will be worth the wait. Clint seems cool enough. It's announced by an unknown member of "the girls" (an actual girl) that there will be three songs sung first, though, the first by Tony's very own Natasha, the second by both Natasha and Bruce's own Clint, and then the third one by just Clint. Do any of the other "girls" ever get jealous? Maybe not, seeing that most people who work at a strip club are just here for the money.

The first one by Natasha is a song by The Romantics, called "What I Like About You" and released _way_ back in 1980. Super old. Figures.

The lights go out right at first, still out when the music starts to play. Four claps ring out as fast as claps can ring, red lights flashing on at those four spots before it goes dark again. Then, right as a large group of people (at least three, probably more; Tony stinks at estimating things) yell _"HEY!"_ all of the lights come back on, all the lights red.

"_Uh huh, huh!"_ all of them (okay, so there are four, fine) say at once again.

The lights turn white.

"_HEY!"_ again all at once.

Back to red.

"_Uh huh, huh!"_

Back to white.

That's when Natasha becomes visible, spinning her way from the back of the four men singing to stop out front, legs spread and hips thrust forward with her mouth open wide in a sort of "yeah!" Her outfit is…intense, to say the least.

Dark grey thigh-high socks, two white stripes up at the top, and light pink high top Converse at her feet (Converse will _never_ go out of style). Her bottoms are simple jean mini shorts, though it's spiced up a bit by the piano keyboard design belt. Her top is a light pink tank top with inch thick straps, sheer enough that you can easily see the sexy red bra beneath it (she must really like that bra; she had it on yesterday, too). Her hair is down and wavy, with a big rainbow patterned bow sticking out from the back, her lips are plump and blood red, and her eyes are red as well with matching eye shadow, mascara, and eyeliner.

Tony's honestly not sure if he likes it or if it's just way too much for him. He's the type of person who likes all those weird outfits and frills in the bedroom, but as soon as it gets outside of it he'd rather just whoever he's with wear a business suit or an elegant dress. It's the businessman in him.

She reaches up to the mic attached to her ear, and holds it tight as she starts to sing:

"_What I like about you  
You hold me tight  
Tell me I'm the only one  
Wanna come over tonight! Yeah!"_

She does a lot of spinning as she sings, back and forth across the stage as the four men behind her dance their own moves.

_"Keep on whispering in my ear  
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear  
'Cause it's true!  
That's what I like about you!_

_What I like about you_  
_You really know how to dance—"_

Tony has never seen somebody do a more intricate flip in his life. She even lands down on a single hand before spring back into a standing position.

_"—When you go up, down, jump around  
Think about true romance! Yeah!_

_Keep on whispering in my ear_  
_Tell me all the things that I wanna hear_  
_'Cause it's true_  
_That's what I like about you_  
_That's what I like about you_  
_That's what I like about you_  
_Wow!"_

"_HEY!"_ all of her and the four men scream at once.

Harmonica's came back big in all genres of music in about 3006, so the fact that there's a huge solo for one in this song from over a thousand years ago is a big hit—not to mention the fact that Natasha's use of her webbing to do her spins is amazing. She splatters them out in all sorts of directions, including on the four backup dancers so that they're spun around strategically.

The rest of the song is much the same way, with Natasha showing off her webs and dancing while she sings, including a lot of pole for the four backups.

_"What I like about you_  
_You keep me warm at night_  
_Never wanna let you go_  
_Know you make me feel all right, yeah_

_Keep on whispering in my ear_  
_Tell me all the things that I wanna hear_  
_'Cause it's true_  
_That's what I like about you_  
_That's what I like about you_  
_That's what I like about you_

_That's what I like about you  
That's what I like about you  
That's what I like about you  
That's what I like about you_

_HEY_  
_Uh huh, huh_  
_Hey, hey, hey, HEY_  
_Uh huh, huh, brr_  
_HEY_  
_Uh huh, huh_

And the very last _"HEY!"_ is with all four men and Natasha raising their left fists into the air. When the lights dim the four men disappear into the back, but Natasha shoots her webbing straight up before climbing out of sight.

The same announcer comes back on to name the next song, another oldie but about thirty years after the last one just sung by Natasha. It's called "You Make Me Feel…" by a band called Cobra Starship, featuring some chick named Sabi or something. The Black Widow will be dressed up as Sabi and Hawkeye as Cobra Starship's lead singer, Gabe something, and both outfits both with a few added touches.

The lights dim again, and the song instantly starts with Natasha even though you can't see anyone yet.

_Na, na, na, na, na…  
Na, na, na, na, na.  
Na, na, na, na, na…  
Na, na, na, na, na._

On the very last "na", the show lights flash on, revealing both Natasha and Clint up at the curtain, legs spread apart and holding the hand closest to the other. Tony has no idea how "Sabi" and the "Cobra Starship lead singer" are _supposed_ to look, but he's sure they did great.

Natasha is in the same jean mini shorts as before, but now there are black leggings sticking out form below—but only by about an inch or two because they've been ripped. Her top is a loose, cream colored tank top with a navy blue jacket over it, the shoulders slid down so that hers are bare, and the sleeves rolled up just passed her elbows. Beneath the shirt is a very visible gold bra in the bright white light facing down on them, and she's adorned in gold jewelry (an intricate necklace, bangles on each wrist, and gold hoop earrings) and make-up (lipstick, eye shadow, and eyeliner). She has on calf-high white socks now, and her Converse are high tops and a sparkly gold. She also has on fingerless gloves of black lace.

Tony honestly has no fucking clue how she can change so fast. _He_ can change pretty fast out of a button-up and slacks, but how does she do all of undressed, taking off old make-up, putting on new make-up, re-dressing, and then getting back out on stage in _that_ short amount of time? There must be one _hell_ of a team back there. Or they just have state of the art technology. He's not sure which.

Clint isn't quite as sexy, but that's mostly because he's got less skin showing. Tight blue jeans (how is he going to dance in those? Strippers are weird) and an equally tight hot pink t-shirt, and over it a jacket the same color as Natasha's but with cream colored sleeves. He's also sporting hot pink aviators, a hot pink belt, hot pink high top Converse, _and_ hot pink fingernail polish.

Obviously Natasha is gold and Clint is hot pink in this particular song/dance. Tony can't help but smirk, seeing that gold is one of his _favorite_ colors, but Bruce fucking _hates_ hot pink.

Clint starts singing first, and then they trade off or sing in unison throughout the song, getting really fucking close in some places or ending up across the stage. It is a strip club too, of course, so they both end up in less clothes by the end. Other than the accessories, Natasha ends up in just her gold bra and matching underwear thanks to lots of Velcro and zippers, plus her shoes and unnecessary socks. Even though socks are now built into shoes, some people still wear them as a fashion statement. Clint is still in more than Natasha, with just the jeans off to reveal hot pink briefs that very much hint to what you'll get if you request him for the night, plus some black calf garters above his Converse.

Clint disappears off the stage after that, but this time Natasha stays. She walks up to the front of the middle branch of the stage, giving Tony a wink before looking out to address the entire club:

She throws her arms back to thrust out her chest. "BOOBS, WOO!"

The club inhabitants laugh, but Tony just snorts. He didn't know _she'd_ be in the show at all tonight. Funny she didn't mention it.

"But enough about me," she says, dropping an arm to push her fingers through her hair before dropping them both. "Bet you guys don't know what day it is."

There are a few muttered voices through the crowd telling her that it's "Comedy Night!" but for the most part it's silent.

"Psh," Natasha says, batting her hand out. "What are you all, businessmen? TELL ME WHAT DAY IT IS, YOU RICH BUNCH OF FUCKERS!"

_That_ sparks something in everyone, including Tony and Bruce, who share the smallest of eye rolls before shouting with everyone else.

"Much better," she says, winking down at Tony. "It's a strippers club, guys. Loosen up a little. The gods know you'll be later!"

Tony laughs, along with everybody else. Businessmen are so easily entertained. They're so used to harsh, cold, fake laughter that anything real is the most wonderful thing they'll ever experience. Tony would know, and so would Thor if he was here.

"Alright, alright," she says, flitting her wrist at everyone. "I'm no comedian, but you know who _is_? Hawkeye, that's fucking who! We got one more song for you tonight before the jokes come out, sung by our sweet little bird himself. It's a loud piece by Rose Sebert, otherwise known as 'Ke$ha' back in her own time period. Please welcome…GOLD TRANS AM!"

The crowd cheers as Natasha yanks off her mic, tossing it to the Executioner fellow that's always on the drums. Tony smiles up at her, smiling even wider when she comes over to sit beside him, spinning around once before pulling her legs up to sit crisscrossed in it.

"Hey," she says.

Tony grins at her. "You never said you'd be up there tonight."

She shrugs. "Didn't need to be said. I only sung a couple songs." She smiles over at Bruce. "You must be Clint's 'Brucey-kins'."

Bruce blushes—a _lot_. "Uh, yeah, hi. Tony's Black Widow?"

She nods, taking his outstretched hand. "Now shut up and watch your boyfriend."

"You're not going to change?" Tony whispers to her.

She snorts quietly, flitting her wrist at him. "You like gold anyway."

Tony smiles. "Does that mean I get to be first?"

"By request, of course." She winks.

Tony rolls his eyes. So in love.

**OoOoOoO**

_BRUCE  
20:38_

Bruce can't help but smile at the interaction between Tony and Natasha. Maybe she can look a little scary when she's waving around a whip or a riding crop in spiked boots, plus the fact that she's a vampire (Bruce has never been a big fan of anything sharp, or even blood), but she seems really fun.

But then the lights dim, and he ceases watching them. Clint's coming on again. He can't miss that.

The lights still dim, and Clint's voice comes on over the speakers after a giggle:

"_This song makes me wanna…have sex in my car."_

There's an off sort of moan, and then all sorts of different colored lights come on at once right as Clint, now in view, starts to really sing:

"_Wham! Bam! Thank you, man  
Get inside my fuckin'  
Gold Trans Am!_

_Wham! Bam! Thank you, man  
Get inside my fuckin'  
Gold Trans Am!"_

He laughs, flipping forward in such a way that he lands on his hands and bounds right back off of them, landing on his feet with his legs spread. His outfit is…wow. Bruce can't help but stare. He didn't know they made outfits with such _intensity_…

He has on the leather underwear from yesterday, but underneath them are shiny gold tights with a faint pattern of leopard print. His top _was_ a simple black t-shirt, but now it's been mangled in all sorts of creative ways, with tears all through the front and back and also tears down the side that are only held together by the fabric of itself tied together down at the hemline. His shoes are the knee-high Converse, all black but for silver sparkled laces, and he also has on silver fingerless gloves.

His hair is spiked up in the front, and sprayed gold on the tip, as are his eyebrows, but everything else make-up related to him is silver. Eye shadow, eyeliner, fingernails, lipstick, and even some tear-like streaks coming down from his left eye—well, Bruce's left, but it's actually his right. He's got long feather earrings with small silver chains dangling beside them from a second piercing.

He dances obscenely as he sings, dragging his hands around his body and bending back in such ways that it shows _exactly_ how much he's packing.

"_Pull over sucker  
Now spread 'em  
Let me see what you're packin'  
Inside that denim_

_Pedal to the metal  
Lookin' straight amazin'  
I can't help all the hell  
That I'm raisin'!—sorry!"_

That's when some others dancers all come out, some of them dressed up like leopards and others in nothing but glittering silver, spinning their ways across the stage and singing a few backup vocals.

"_Stoppin' traffic like  
An ambulance  
Try'na get my hands  
In your worn down pants_

One of the dancers spins over to him, smaller than Clint but nearly twice as filled out in muscle and brawn. Clint's already got some pretty broad shoulders, but this guy is downright _impressive_. Bruce doesn't like it, to be honest. Clint is his perfect type.

Clint leans on his shoulder with an elbow, giving him a once over but still facing the crowd for the show.

"_Hey you, skinner  
t-shirt tight  
Baby, need…"_

He tilts his head in a seductive smile that has Bruce gritting his teeth so he doesn't start panting.

"…_a ride?  
I'm the captain of this ship so  
Shut up and get inside."_

He spins away from the "skinner", but in the process that dancer has his hands holding firmly to Clint's shirt, and as the distance between them grows, Clint's already torn shirt rips completely off of him, showing off a bare chest that has Bruce's thoughts right back to where he and Clint were yesterday. He has to force himself to keep watching instead of zoning out. He wants to watch. It's his Clint, after all.

"_Come on climb into  
My golden cockpit  
Love you till you're seeing  
Stars and stripes!_

_Burning rubber on the  
Southern highway  
Gonna take you for a  
Freedom ride!"_

That's when some new dancers come out, these ones dressed in nothing but gold. They're pushing from behind and pulling from the front via a golden rope a miniature trans am, also gold, just like the song.

Clint ignores it at first, continuing to sing:

"_Wham! Bam! Thank you, man  
Get inside my fuckin'  
Gold Trans Am!_

_Wham! Bam! Thank you, man  
Get inside my fuckin'  
Gold Trans Am!"_

Another dancer spins over to him, this one a little more rustic looking.

"_A sweet-ass mullet  
Caught my eye  
Now you got me jonesin'  
For a moustache ride_

_Twenty bucks and a  
Switchblade knife  
American metal  
With a devil inside_

The other dancer spins away and Clint starts makes his way down the middle stage piece, grabbing a pole about halfway down it and bending around it like his backbone is completely void.

"_Daisy Dick, showin'  
Off my ass  
And when I walk past  
Give the boys whiplash!_

_Hey you, skinner  
Tony-shirt tight  
Baby, need…a ride?_

_I'm the captain of this ship so  
Shut up and get inside!"_

He spins off of the pole, sliding back up a ways on his knees before flipping up mid-slide and landing just in front of the miniature car.

"_Come on climb into  
My golden cockpit!"_

He leaps into it, bending down to show off his ass a bit.

"_Love you till you're seeing  
Stars and stripes!"_

He swings back up and around with an American flag raised above his head, waving it once before flinging it to the side, where it's caught by another of the dancers who tucks one corner into the back of his pants to wear it like a tail.

Clint, on the other hand, as he's still singing, is slowly sinking inside of the "car", it not moving as he disappears down. The chair must sink away to a hole in the stage.

"_Burning rubber on the  
Southern highway  
Gonna take you for a  
Freedom ride!"_

Clint's all but spat back out, flipping through the air and landing in front of the "car". In his hands is a wireless electric guitar (which have been around for the better part of the least nine-hundred years, at the very least), to which the entire club cheers as he breaks into an epic guitar solo. Bruce's jaw is dropped, and he glances away just long enough to see that Tony's is as well. Natasha (is he allowed to call her that? Or does he have to refer to her as the Black Widow? Does it even matter?) is grinning like an idiot, clapping and whistling along with everyone else. They've been friends for a while, obviously.

As he holds the last note of the guitar, a few of the backup dancers/singers yell around at each other.

"_Come on!"_

"_Get inside!"_

"_Get inside!"_

Then Clint breaks out again, hands raised into the air and guitar hanging by the strap, eyes shut and jaw wide as he gets into it as much as any popular artist would:

"_Freedom riiiide!"_

Right as the last note is let out the stage all but _explodes_, with paint powder, glitter, and party-fog spraying out in every color of the rainbow. Clint and the others are absolutely drenched in it, so much so that Bruce actually questions for a second whether or not _that much_ was actually planned.

"_Get inside!"_ is yelled from all of the backup dancers/singers at once before Clint continues, spinning his guitar around once before flinging it off and tossing it to one of the backups, who keeps playing a few notes here and there as the song continues:

"_Come on climb into  
My golden cockpit  
Love you till you're seein'_

_Stars and stripes!_

_Burning rubber on the  
Southern highway  
Gonna take you for a  
Freedom ride!_

All of the backups yell again, this time joined by Clint, all of them with one fist raised to the ceiling, and Clint's head dropped back to expose his neck:

"_Get inside!"_

The club absolutely _erupts_, Natasha probably contributing to half of it as she jumps up from her chair and screams wildly. Bruce snorts just the tiniest bit. Tony's into the type that can have a good time every now and again, but Bruce has always been into the more quiet types. Which is why he chose Clint, the guy who's singing this song in the first place…? Dammit.

Tony pushes at his shoulder and leans over to him, laughing and clapping. "You, of all people, _would_ fall for the loudest, rowdiest, most eccentric son of a bitch in the entire club."

Bruce laughs and pushes at his face before going back to smiling up at Clint, clapping as loud as he can and whistling every now and again until the cheers die down.

Clint stays on the stage breathing heavily as the backups all disappear off, taking the guitar and "car" with them. He walks to the front of the middle stage aisle, leaning his back against the pole at the end and winking down at Bruce.

"WOO!" he says into his mike, looking up to smile out at everyone. "I am a _mess_!"

Everyone cheers again, though it doesn't last near as long, partly because they're probably all cheered out and also because Clint waves at them to be quiet.

And then it starts. Clint is hilarious; Bruce has never been so proud of anyone he's been with (is he _allowed_ to call him his boyfriend? Anyone who calls Bruce his soul mate better allow that), and the good natured elbows he keeps getting from Tony are making it all the better. His jokes range all across the spectrum, from things about sex to boats, children to trains, and Disneyland to bunk beds. Somehow he links it all together at the end even, still covered in paint powder and glitter.

As he's waving goodbye to everyone after the better part of an hour, he gives Bruce a discrete wink and a head motion to go back and meet him. Bruce gives him a subtle nod back, patting Tony on the shoulder as he swings out of his chair.

"Have fun!" Tony calls after him, but Bruce just flits his wrist in reply as he hurries along.

Bruce smiles weakly at Heimdall when he gets to him, but the man reaches a hand out to stop him before he can pass.

Bruce stutters a little, but the Man at the Door beats him to any real communication: _"Do not get too far into it, Mr. Banner. It is about to begin."_ Bruce frowns, but Heimdall drops his hand to let him pass before he can ask anything. _"Have a nice night, sir."_

Bruce just nods, continuing passed the fabric door.

* * *

End branch notes: Right, so…there's the end of the first branch of part two! I would have totally wrote out Clint's whole gig buuut I'm not very funny and I didn't want to go through all the Reader's Digest magazines I have lying around and steal them out of that to have to reference them later XD So yeah I just skipped it.

Anyway, the next branch is only going to have two perspectives in it (Steve and Loki, Steve's starting out with a sex scene, woo) before it switches to branch three, which I'll explain at the end of branch two! (PS I say branch instead of chapter because they're…well, I don't know, too long to be chapters I approve of? I don't know, it sounded like it fit better. Just go with it.)

Alright so here are the songs again :)

**1.** "What I Like About You" by the Romantics was the first song of the night, sung by Natasha—though obviously in a female tone instead of the man that sings it.  
**2.** "You Make Me Feel…" by Cobra Starship feat. Sabi, sung by both Natasha and Clint as the second song of the night. Yes, I _know_ a lot of people think it's "la" instead of "na" so that's what I wrote.  
**3.** "Gold Trans Am" by Ke$ha, sung by Clint as the third/last song before the comedy that I skipped over XD I know some people really don't like Ke$ha but she is totally my guilty pleasure; I am fucking obsessed with this song whoops.

Alright, I guess that's it for notes about now… Tell me what you think :) Or don't again, I'll still love all y'all anyway!


	5. Part II, Branch II

**Part II, Branch II: One for the Money**

_STEVE  
Time: 20:12…_

"Steve, oh gods."

Steve gives an unabashed moan at the way Phil sounds with his lips arched up to his ear. They've hardly even gotten anywhere, just with Phil's suit off and Steve's gloves thrown somewhere across the room. Phil is pushed up against the door and Steve's hand a leg bent up to his hip, the other gripping against his side. Phil's hands are holding tightly to Steve's sides as he sucks heavy on his neck, well aware that there's going to be a good sized hicky there.

"I want you, baby," Steve whispers against his skin, grinding against him. "So much."

Phil tightens his grip on his shoulders. "Oh gods, please."

Steve lifts up his other leg and pushes him up the door before spinning around and walking them over to the bed, dropping Phil's onto his back.

"Shoes, pants, off," he says as he kicks off his own boots. Steve strips down to his underwear, as well as Phil, and then crawls back onto him, kissing him with a passion unlike Steve has ever dealt—let alone actually felt.

Phil won't stop _moaning_ into Steve's mouth, and gods he wants him so much he just wants to look at him and take him against the bed with the passion of a thousand suns. He feverishly undoes the buttons of Phil's button-up, pushing it open and off of his shoulders. He pulls away from Phil's mouth and licks his way down his neck to his chest, slicking a pathway to a nipple and sucking on it.

Phil sounds like he's going to have an orgasm already, but Steve doesn't want that yet. He sits up, grinning down on him before letting his eyes graze hungrily over his body.

He stops, cocking an eyebrow before looking back up at Phil with just his eyes. "Are you wearing a jock strap?"

Phil blushes a little before sporting a guilty grin. "No?"

Steve laughs, leaning down to kiss his stomach. "That's too bad," he whispers, breathing purposefully over the trail of hair going down to his groin. "I would have gotten all hot and bothered at the idea of fucking you into the bed with it still on."

Phil moans as Steve mouths at his cock through the fabric, hands sliding up his legs to grip hard to his hips, just shy of his fingers splaying over the actual ass.

"Steve, baby," Phil moans, trying to pull away at the same time he's trying to shove forward. "Not ye—" He grits his teeth. "Take me, _please_."

Steve has to force himself to pull away, grinning at the wet marks on the jockstrap fabric. "You want it?" he whispers, turning his grin up to Phil. "Want me moving inside you?" He pushes up on his knees between Phil's spread legs, lifting up his "skirt" just enough to show off his raging hard on.

Phil breathes out a moan, eyes trained and fingers twitching against the blankets.

Steve leans over to the nightstand to get the lube, but something white in the heap of Phil's pants catches his eye. It's a sort of fabric, a tassel on the end. "What's that?" he asks, leaning back on his knees.

Phil follows his line of sight and chuckles. "Oh, that's a blindfold! I used one at work today. I must have stuffed it into my pocket to get it out of the way and forgot it there."

Steve frowns and turns back to him, blinking a bit. "You use blindfolds in your profession? _Where_ do you work?"

Phil smirks. "SHIELD police."

Steve almost falls off the bed. SHIELD is the highest and most effective police force in the entire _world_. They only have the best of the best. Phil can get Steve out of here! He could even get Natasha, Loki, and Clint out of here! Just…not right now. Steve is far too busy thinking with his dick right now. There's time to talk about it later.

He gives Phil a grin before sliding off of the bed, snatching the blindfold up. "I could have some fun with this."

Phil licks his lips and swallows. "Yeah? Like what?"

Steve bounds over to him, kissing him softly before telling him to sit up so he can tie the blindfold on. "Now get on your knees," he says.

Phil licks his lips a bit and does so, legs shaking a bit. "What are you going to do to me?"

Steve grins, crawling up behind him and thoroughly licking one of his fingers. "You'll see." He laughs. "Actually, you won't."

He circles the finger at Phil's hole, soaking in Phil's breathy moans before pushing in. the man before him rocks back against him, but Steve pushes back to hold him still. He bends down to kiss his back before trailing kisses slowly downwards, planting one on the middle of his left cheek as he pushes his finger in further. After he's stretched him thoroughly with the one finger, he pulls out before taking both hands and gripping tightly to the side of his hips.

"Hey Phil," he says.

"Mmm?" Phil says, looking over his shoulder even though he can't actually see.

Steve grins. "Don't move." Before Phil can question him he leans back down, spreading the cheeks as much as he can with his hands before bending down to delve his tongue into the hole.

Phil lets out a surprised moan that's only half muffled by his pillow. "Shit," he grounds out huskily.

Steve doesn't answer considering that he's occupied at the moment, swirling around his tongue and pushing it past the muscles. When he has Phil panting, ready to lose it again, he leans back, smiling at the whimper that Phil gives at the loss. Now that he's done using his mouth, Steve kisses his way of Phil's spine so that he can reach the lube on the nightstand.

"One more finger, babe," Steve says, kissing his shoulder before sliding back down.

Phil is so damn close and Steve hasn't even gotten his cock inside of him yet, so as he stretches him he reaches down to himself to get a little closer as well. As he is, though, Phil pulls away. Steve pauses and looks up at him, watching with a questioning eye as he spins around with acute precision, pushing the blindfold up for one eye to grin at him.

"You still have your skirt on," he says.

Steve smirks. "I didn't get that far."

Phil hums his response before crawling closer, kissing him softly. Steve isn't sure exactly what Phil is getting at, but he goes with it, happy to submit every now and again. The other man seats himself in Steve's lap, straddling him, before righting his blindfold with a grin, causing Steve's cock to twitch.

"I felt that," he breathes, mouthing at Steve's neck. His hands are down at Steve's "skirt", lifting it out of the way.

Steve moans at the brush of his cock. "Mmm, Phil, did something happen at work today? You're _far_ from hiding behind that pillow…"

Phil grits his teeth, causing Steve to frown.

"_Did_ something happen?"

Phil shakes his head. "I'll tell you later. Shut up and kiss me."

Steve nods and does what he does best: he makes Phil feel good. Their kiss is frantic but short, because Steve paws hard at Phil through the jock strap.

"Oh gods," Phil says, pulling back in a gasp. "This needs to come off. My cock needs to be free _now_."

Steve happily obliges, pulling it off of Phil by one leg at a time so they don't have to completely change around their position. He takes both of their cocks at the same time, pulling forth a gasp from them both. Steve recovers before Phil, managing to get both of the man's hands behind his back.

"Keep them there," he commands.

Phil whimpers. "I don't think I'll be able to."

"Then hold yourself up with them so you'll have to." He pushes lightly at Phil's chest, who instantly gets it and puts his hands back to lean against him, still straddling Steve's waist.

Steve starts up the pumping again, rubbing their cocks together and his hand around their cocks. Usually when he does this he likes the sensation of his hand better, but now…gods, Phil's cock over _anything_. Having him come undone at the rimming was worth every second. Stretching him wasn't a waste of time _at the time_, but now having Steve's cock inside of him just isn't what Phil needs anymore. Whatever happened at work must have been beyond stressful for Phil to have changed so much from yesterday, but Steve is happy to oblige. Maybe he took the time to stretch Phil before, but listening to Phil now…gods, this is what Steve needs, too.

Phil calls Steve's name in a strangled voice before coming over his hand, Steve moaning even louder into his ear as he loses it hardly a second after. Their seeds mix and mingle as they run down their skin, pooling around from the mind blowing orgasm.

"You," Steve breathes, pulling Phil up as he leans on shaky arms, "are the most beautiful creature I have ever been with, and if it was up to me you wouldn't pay a _thing_."

Phil shakes a little in his arms, curling his hands up to rest between their chests. Steve leaves his sticky hand down in his lap, but his other hand reaches up to push off Phil's blindfold before wrapping around his shoulders and letting his fingers splay over his back.

"You're beautiful, too," he whispers, so quietly that Steve might not have even been supposed to hear it.

But he did, so he kisses Phil's forehead. "Scoot back and I'll grab the tissues."

Once they're cleaned off, Steve crawls back onto the bed, wrapping Phil into his arms. "So, what's this thing at work you said you'd tell me later about?"

Phil frowns. "Don't you have other clients?"

"They can wait."

Phil sighs. "I…don't know if I actually want to talk about it."

Steve smiles. "I know just the thing. Lie on your stomach."

Phil gives a quizzical look before obeying, pushing his arms up underneath the pillow and stretching his legs out straight underneath the blankets. "What's this for?" he asks.

"Would you rather a massage or being tickled?"

Phil frowns. "Tickled? That doesn't sound fun at all."

Steve snorts. "Not that kind of tickling. The light, soothing kind. Here, like this…" He reaches hand over to Phil's back, wisping his fingers across the skin in a touch just light enough to feel.

Phil gives an instant sigh of relaxation, causing Steve to smile. "You've really never heard of this?" he asks.

"Nope," Phil says, eyes closed. "Tickling to me has always sounded like a punishment because you can't breathe and after a while it starts to hurt."

"You have obviously been with the wrong people then," Steve says, bending down to kiss a shoulder blade. "I'll show you how it's done."

As Steve goes back to lightly tickling over his back, Phil whispers his name.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you stop saying things you don't mean?"

Steve frowns, pressing his hand flat to Phil's back. "What do you mean?"

Phil sighs harshly and turns his head away. "Like calling me beautiful and yesterday when you told me that you liked me. I know it's just your job but it's confusing and as cold as I try to act I actually get attached to people very easily."

Steve is dead silent. Phil didn't believe him when he said those things? It's true, though…he _is_ beautiful and he _does_ like him. On the other hand, it "just his job" as well. Phil _shouldn't_ think it's real. Why would he?

"I think that's my problem," Steve whispers at length, beginning to tickle a line down Phil's spine. "Because I do mean it. I've never meant something more in my entire life."

Phil freezes below him. No breathing or twitching or even the tiny rise and fall of his chest from a beating heart. He turns over to Steve slowly, looking up at him with a frown. "What?"

Steve smiles down at him, leaning closer. "I tried to tell you yesterday, but I had to get to my scheduled appointment. It's easy for a client to fall in love with a stripper, but the other way around is nearly…" He's bent down an inch from Phil's face. "Unheard of." He kisses him softly, smoothing a hand across his back.

Phil doesn't kiss him back for about half a second before putting everything into it, leaning up and pushing Steve down on his back. When Phil pulls away, panting, Steve smiles and opens his mouth to say something, but Phil beats him to it—and not with anything he was ready for, either…

"What are you running from?"

Steve blinks at him. "Excuse me?"

"I looked you up last night. I have an unlimited database at my disposal. I hacked into part of the Skrull's data as well and saw that the night your career started here was also the day you disappeared from everywhere else. I want to know why you left. What are you running from?"

Steve swallows. "This is that thing that happened at work, isn't it?"

Phil nods, sitting up on top of Steve, his legs straddling the blondes. "It didn't happen at work, but I didn't want to explain that while we were…well, busy."

Steve sits up as well. "Lie back down and I'll tell you."

Phil instantly obeys, giving a warm smile at the way Steve's hands dance over his back. Gods, what a spine…

"I'm not running from anything," he whispers.

Phil frowns. "Then why are you…" He trails off, and Steve has never seen somebody sit up so fast in his entire life. "Oh my gods, they're keeping you here against your will."

Steve nods, nothing else needing to be said.

"You've been here for _four years_ and you haven't been able to get out?"

Steve gives a sad laugh, looking away. "The Black Widow's been here for twenty-two."

Phil actually falls off of the bed, leaping into a standing position. "I'm shutting this place down." He whips a cell phone out of his pocket and presses a button, but Steve gets to him in time to turn it off.

"What are you _doing_?" Phil growls at him, everything about him screaming _I am a SHIELD agent back the fuck off_.

"You can't call from in here. It's not safe."

He growls incoherently, reaching down to snatch up his pants. "Then I'll take them on my own."

Steve grabs his arm and pulls him over to him, spinning him around to pin him to the bed. "Phil, listen to me!"

Phil freezes, SHIELD look just barely softening. "Are you running from someone or not, Steve?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not, but I can't leave yet. Not without my friends."

"I can save them too if you would just get some backup over here!"

"No, you don't understand! Natasha is a vampire, she's got nowhere to go in the sunlight. Clint _is_ running from something, I just don't know what. Loki is…" He purses his lips. "Loki would leave all of us, probably. You can get us out, but _not right yet_. Our boss here is leaving in just a few hours for a vacation who knows where to do who knows what. You'll never find him and you can't shut it down in time. He'll escape. You have to do it with a _plan_."

Phil's eyes narrow. "You want revenge."

Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky is dead. He knows Bucky is dead. He didn't want to know, but he does. "They killed my best friend four years ago and have held me here ever since. Natasha was sold into this life when she was two years old, which is why she's been here for twenty-two years, and she literally has not been outside or looked out of a window the entire time—she has _no_ idea what it's like out there. Clint joined because he _is_ running, and now he's been stuck here for seven years, since he was nineteen years old. Loki has been here for twelve, since he was thirteen, and almost every damn day he's little more than a sex slave to our master." He stands up, unpinning Phil so he can glare menacingly. "I don't just _want_ revenge, I _need_ it."

Phil is speechless for a moment, mouth opening in closing as he tries to think of something to say. Eventually he breathes an aggravated laugh. "Are you telling me that me and my three friends got the only four in the entire Skrull that are being held against their will?"

Steve nods.

Phil stands up, SHIELD look back. "What day is this Other getting back?"

"Tuesday afternoon. He'll be gone for four days."

Phil nods, grabbing up his pants again. "Get dressed in your usual outfit. You're going to have to continue on with whatever you normal do for the next few days, then. I'll have agents lined up, ready to take everyone down. Are any of the other 'girls' aware you're being held here against your will?"

"No, none of them. The only that know are the Chitauri and Heimdall, the Man at the Door."

"The one in gold?"

"The Guardian."

Phil pales a little.

"It's okay," Steve says. "He won't tell of your plan. Well…" Steve bites his lip, thinking hard, knowing Heimdall will hear him: _Please._

_Granted_, is the man's only reply.

Steve smiles. "He won't tell anyone."

Phil pulls out his wallet, and Steve instructs him to write out the starting price again.

"I'll see you Tuesday?" Steve asks once they're both dressed.

"You won't just _see_ me on Tuesday," he says, grinding his teeth. "You'll never leave my fucking side." He sighs. "They'll probably take you and every other of 'the girls' here to question them, not to mention do a few screenings to make sure you're alright." He flits his wrist. "It will all be made clear on Tuesday."

"That's my day off," Steve says, cracking his knuckles. He's happy. He's going to be _rescued_, gods he is so happy! "What about the revenge?"

"Forced prostitution for twenty-two years, plus others? This Other will be executed, no doubt, plus some of his closer Chitauri. You'll probably be allowed to kill him yourselves."

Steve grins. "Loki's going to flip."

Phil shakes his head. "You can't tell them," he says. "It's too risky for the plan to get out. Promise me you won't, Steve."

Steve sighs, wiping a gloved hand down his face. "I promise," he whispers. Secrets are worth keeping if it means saving _everybody_. It's a good thing there are only cameras in the places that Loki goes.

Phil kisses Steve hard before walking out, leaving him by himself.

And now he waits.

**OoOoOoO**

_LOKI  
20:29…_

"_It all started when I was ten years old…"_

Birthday parties were not something Loki enjoyed, but being the first child of five he had to sit through a lot of them anyway. Gimli was the second born, his name meaning "fire". He was born a full Child of the Sun, while Loki's name meant nothing of his two species simply for the fact that there were two.

Gimli was turning ten, only ten months younger than Loki since their mother, Farbauti, became pregnant again almost instantly after Loki's own birth on the fourth of January. It was the eighteenth of September.

It was no secret that Farbauti, Loki, and the other four children did not like their husband/father, Laufey, but they did their best to pretend that it _was_ a secret. Laufey was abused as a child and he continued it on in his own family, except for the youngest (little Eira—meaning "snow"—a full Frost Giant, who was two at the time), who he cared for deeper as deeply as he could.

But everybody else? Well, they got the sharp end of the ice sword. The third and fourth born were twins, five at the time. Eias (meaning "embers") was born first as a full Child of the Sun, but Einmyria (meaning "ashes") was born eleven minutes afterwards as a full Frost Giant. When Eias was killed in a car accident, it wouldn't be proven that Laufey was drunk when he crashed them. They didn't have a Guardian at the trial because of some Migration Census Act for their species.

Laufey didn't like the sun, so how he ended up with Farbauti is unknown to Loki. He's sure, on the other hand, that he forced her into having all of five children. He beat her, forced her to have sex with him (but it was not considered rape because it was within the marriage), and deprived her purposefully of the sun, killing her more and more each day. Loki and Gimli would steer clear of him when possible, and Einmyria used to, but after Eias's death she would try to stop him from hurting Farbauti every time, usually ticking him off even more and being beaten herself. It didn't matter that she was a full Frost Giant, her dead twin was a Sun Child. She was _five_, having lost her other half only a year before.

But September eighteenth of that year, Loki couldn't take it anymore. Abuses, forced sex, and underground bondage? He just snapped. He screamed and Laufey combusted. Loki didn't know how it had happened at first, but then he didn't want it to stop. Laufey was able to put the first fire out, but after that he was too weak to put out the second. Loki never felt more alive than while he watched his father die in the thing he hated the most.

His family, on the other hand, was terrified. It didn't matter that things were going to be better without him, they were afraid. Farbauti kicked him out at ten years old (he has no idea how they got through the trial of Laufey's death), and Loki spent the first year running around on the streets, every moment one step closer to starving to death.

The start of the second year was when Loki discovered his teleporting ability. It's impossible to explain because he's not even sure how it works himself. He just stole a loaf of bread by staring at it long enough and thinking about how hungry he was. It combusted, frost over, and then did the same into his hands. He was scared of it at first, refusing to eat another two days before he started using it to his advantage. _Magic_, some of his fellow homeless friends called it. Loki could use _magic_.

And that was how he survived.

Two days after his thirteenth birthday, though, somebody caught him. A small police force around there had been trying to catch him for two years now—well, not _him_, but whoever it was that was stealing things via fire and frost. They didn't know it was Loki who did it because he wasn't in the language _or_ species census since he didn't have a home (he wasn't in it when he was taken to the Skrull, either).

It was a short, stubby little man who caught him stealing a pair of shoes, and he just started yelling. Yelling that he found the Frost Fire Bandit, and that it was nothing more than a kid. So Loki snapped his fingers and set him on fire, running off before he was finished burning. He knows he died, though, because he saw it on the news the next day. There were witnesses, so there was a description for Loki out since they were looking for him.

So Loki did what he could: he ran. He was not running for long before he ran headlong into two Chitauri, a species Loki had never seen before on his side of town. Since Loki had never seen them, he knew nothing about them, and they seemed nice enough. They weren't very attractive and were far from pleasant, but Loki was equally unpleasant most of the time and he was perfectly alright with being acquainted to those like him. They told him that they knew a place he could stay, a big place with lots of other homeless children like him. Loki thought they meant an orphanage, and he wasn't okay with that, but they assured him it wasn't that. So then Loki thought it was simply a nice little home that some rich old lady decided to turn into a sort of rescue mission.

He was wrong.

But he was thirteen, what did he know?

The Chiaturi dragged him into a place called the Skrull, rather boring looking on the inside. Just at the bottom of the stairs they told him to shut up or they'd kill him, and Loki didn't want that. He was too afraid to even think about burning them away.

It was foggy right when you walked inside of the door, but the moment it disappeared, Loki wouldn't have been able to try to fight anyway. He was mesmerized. He knew it was a strippers club right away, and he had never seen so many in one place. Some were at the pole, some were singing, others were dancing, and even others were simply sitting around, drinking a beer or two. Nobody else was here, though. Only employees. They weren't open for the night yet.

Just as they were about to pass a large black man dressed in lots of gold, there was a large crash, and Loki and the two Chitauri leading him turned to see another Chitauri smashed into one of the tables beside the stage. There was a girl that looked Loki's age standing on the stage, her hair at her shoulders and dark red that was flying wildly around her face. She was in a tight black cat suit, including a curved tail, a headband with little cat ears on them, and sharp claws—that was when Loki also saw the fangs, though, and he knew the claws and fangs were just natural because she was a vampire. Vampire and cat fangs are very easy to see the difference in. There are some species that are part cat, sure, but she was definitely not that.

She started screaming something at him in a language that Loki couldn't understand, though it was a common enough one that he could place it as Russian. As the crashed Chitauri stood up slowly, the girl leapt at him, knocking him back down with a kick to his neck. She bounded over again before he could get back up that time, jumping into his stomach before sitting down on him to repeatedly punch him in the face.

Some of the strippers ran over to her and yank her back, telling her off in a few other languages. She yelled back at some of them in Russian, trying to get back at the Chitauri. Loki couldn't tell from here if he was dead or simply knocked out.

Suddenly a whole different aura passed over the room, and every single person fell dead silent. A Chitauri somehow different looking then all the others passed Loki, walking smoothly across the room. He made his way silently over to the Chitauri on the ground, and the strippers around the girl backed away instantly, leaving her to fend for herself.

She just stood there, though, hands on her hips and fangs barred.

This was the leader. He turned to the girl from where he was crouched beside the out-cold Chitauri, speaking to her in a language that consisted of clicks, whirs, hums, and other related things.

She replied in the same language, twice as aggravated and with far more hand movements.

He hissed, standing up and walking over to her fast.

She hissed back, leaping backwards and out of his reach.

He hummed at her and pointed to the ground in front of him, no doubt telling her to get back to him.

She simply flitted her hair and turned around, walking away from him.

The Chitauri leader motioned for some of the strippers around her to stop her, but before any of them could, a sort of webbing shoots out of the girl's wrist and she climbed up it with the ability of a spider, disappearing into the rafters.

Everybody sighed, and then the leader spoke in English: "He is not dead," he said. "Somebody tend to him before she drops back down and finishes the job."

That was when he walked back over to Loki, addressing one of the Chitauri beside him, sharing a talk in what must be the language of their species. He looked Loki over carefully before motioning for the three of them to follow him.

Loki found himself alone with the creature in the only room upstairs, decorated in royal blue, gold, and silver, with plenty of space and luxuries, including a miniature kitchen and a small room branching off to a bathroom.

"What is your name, child?" he asked in English.

Loki swallows. "Loki," he replies.

"Your full name, please."

"Loki Laufeyson. I—I do not have a middle name."

He nodded. "I am known as the Other to those here. How old are you, Loki?"

"I turned thirteen five days ago."

"And what species are you?"

Loki pursed his lips. It had been so long since anybody had asked him that. "I'm a Duobus Diversis Mapagparayan."

The Other's eyes widened considerable. "What two species are you split between?"

"A Frost Giant and a Child of the Sun."

He nodded. "That is very impressive, considering they are opposites. You saw the girl that tried to kill one of my employees, correct?"

Loki nodded in return. "Who is she?"

"It is not important yet. She is a Duobus Diversis as well, though, being full vampire and also part-spider. That is why she has fangs and was also able to shoot the webbing out of her wrist and crawl out of my reach." He cracked his neck. "You are both a rare species and it is quite a coincidence that you are both as such. What languages do you speak, child?"

"English and Norse."

The Other stared at him for an immensely long amount of time. "Did I hear you correctly?" he asked. "You speak Norse?"

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Did I stutter?"

The next thing Loki knew, he was being shoved into a room, it being locked behind him. There was a collar on his neck that Loki didn't know how to get off, and he couldn't just leave because he wasn't strong enough to teleport living objects yet. He was stuck in the room for two days before the Other came to him, picking him up off of the ground, drained of all his energy. He needed the sun. He was half of a Sun Child, he _needed_ it. So the Other took him to the roof, where he held him tightly until he was strong enough to survive.

Loki was taken to a different room after that, this one very nice and filled with all sorts of things that Loki had never had. Video games, a mini fridge full of food, a bathroom branching off…all sorts of things. The room was decorated in blue, red, and grey.

"I had this made for you," the Other said from the doorway. "You are free to come and go from it as you choose, but you are not to leave the building unless at my side. Know that you will be punished if you try to escape."

Loki turned around, tears welling up behind his eyes. He was thirteen, he was allowed to cry. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispers.

"Because you are special, Loki," the other said softly. "I want to keep you. You are not to tell a soul about your being forced to stay here or we will kill them and punish you. The girl your age is being kept here as well; you may confide in her if you wish."

Loki walked out of the room and passed the Other right away, looking left and right down the hallways without a clue which way to go.

A hand rested itself on his shoulder, but he leapt away from it. "You will come to accept it after a time," the Other says to Loki, holding his hand out to point in one direction. "The girl is that way, in the room you came into. Your collar will alert me if it is taken off or if you leave the building, so do not think I will not find you—because I will, and I will teach you a lesson for leaving."

Loki simply growled at him, stomping passed him to make it back up to the top room. There were no outsiders there again, so obviously it wasn't open again. The girl was on the stage, today dressed in the sort of white dress you would have a virgin sacrifice wear, even with the wreath of flowers on her head. Her voice was beautiful, but there were tears in her eyes as she sang…

"_O', death. O', death…  
My name is death  
and the end is here."_

She bowed, then. Loki had missed the entire song. She saw Loki right away, though, smiling warmly at him. She waved to some of the dancers around her, making her way over to Loki.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Natalia."

"I'm Loki," he replied quietly.

She nodded before asking quietly, "He's keeping you here too, right?"

Loki nodded back. "Did they pull you off the streets, too?"

She shook her head no. "My parents sold me into it when I was two."

Loki frowned. "How old are you now?"

"Twelve."

"You been here for ten years?" he asked, incredulous, voice still quiet.

She shrugged, taking Loki's hand and pulling him along. "I'm used to it. Do you like singing?"

"I've never tried it before."

"Better start now, then. You've got a lot to learn if you've never sang before."

"Learn? Like what?"

She lets go of him and starts to count off on her fingers: "Pole dancing, regular dancing, singing, and when we're about sixteen or so we're going to learn how to have sex!" She spins around to face him with a sad smile. "It's a strippers club, what did you think they were forcing us to stay here for?"

And that was the real start to Loki's new life. Natalia changed her name to Natasha when she turned fourteen, and the Other told Loki to start calling him "Kleiser" when Loki turned seventeen. Loki lost his "vaginal virginity" at sixteen with Natasha while being watched by about eight other of "the girls", coaxing Natasha through the first pain and keeping Loki going slow at first as not to hurt her even more. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't because they were so used to things like that. They had watched plenty of porno's by then to get an idea of what the hell they were supposed to be doing, some of them even made by a few of "the girls" there, so it wasn't like sex was something to shy away from. Natasha taught him the basics of singing, stage dancing, and pole dancing before the other of "the girls" taught them some more of the intense moves. The funny thing is, they didn't even like each other very much. They just…clashed. They hung out as little as they could, but at the same time that was more than they hung out with any of the others. Maybe they didn't like each other, but they had a connection because they were both being forced to stay.

Kleiser began to hang around him a lot when he was seventeen, a few days after he told Loki he could call him by his human name, and of course it put Loki on edge a bit. He had gotten used to the fact that he wasn't allowed to leave, but that didn't stop him from trying to escape every now and again. He was punished every time, just like he was told he would be, but it didn't stop him.

Before either of Loki or Natasha turned eighteen, they were set waiting on tables and delivering drinks, knowing full well it was illegal for them to be around alcohol, since the legal age limit is eighteen. It was twenty-one about a thousand years or so ago, but it's a lot more common now since there are pills you take that don't let you get drunk. You're not allowed to leave a bar drunk, meaning you either wait it out there or take one of the pills. It's a lot safer, and the things caused by drunks have been cut down by about eighty-two percent in the last thousand or so years.

Loki lost his "anal virginity" on his eighteenth birthday. It was the worst thing he had ever done. He was sure it would have been alright if it had been with somebody he actually enjoyed, but it _wasn't_. Kleiser ordered him up to the top floor, where is private room was, and went down on him. Loki hated Kleiser for obvious reasons, and he hated himself to no end when it actually felt good for the first time. He threw up twice in the small trash can beside Kleiser's bed afterwards.

Frost Giant's can get pregnant. Loki has been pregnant twice, but Kleiser took him in for a male abortion clinic both times. After that he got a birth control shot that you only have to get once a year, it being ninety-nine and one quarter effective. He's been forced to have sex ever since, this _actually_ being able to be called rape since it's not within a marriage. But Loki couldn't tell anyone but Natasha, and she couldn't tell anybody else.

Loki's stage and pole dancing career began when he was seventeen, and a week after he turned eighteen he was listed as one of the strippers who would give a "private dance". Loki had never had sex so many times, and it hurt when it was a male that wanted him. Kleiser took care of him as best as he could while still getting money, sometime even putting aside their own sex so Loki could heal after a particularly rough client.

Sometimes Loki thought that Kleiser even loved him. He told Natasha once and she laughed at him.

"He doesn't love you or he wouldn't force you to do so many things you don't want to do!" she had said.

But that was just the thing. Laufey really did love Farbauti up until his end, but he was sometimes even worse to her than Kleiser was to Loki. In fact, Kleiser was probably always better. He took Loki out into the sun every day to keep him healthy, occasional took him shopping, gave him the second nicest room in the entire establishment, etcetera. It didn't make Loki like him, but it did make some of the times bearable. Loki is good at keeping his emotions to himself, but times that he was sunbathing he didn't even need to fake a smile. He truly smiled, staring up at the sun. Being a Sun Child it doesn't damage his eyes at all.

Loki used to call himself being there a "game of escape". He combusted one of the Chitauri guards once to get passed him, his collar glowing on the floor of his private bedroom. He didn't even get outside before he was stopped, and then he got a pretty nasty punishment for that (Natasha only got punished every now and again for beating one or two of the guards senseless, but she never killed them.) That's all Loki ever needed to do…get outside. Because in the Skrull there was some sort of magic or another that didn't allow Loki to combust himself (or his other three friends) outside. He can combust others, but he's never had much of a need to.

As soon as Loki got outside, though (or at least far enough away to be out of the shield), he'd be able to take himself away. He couldn't do it while sunbathing or shopping because his usual collar would be replaced with a bigger, bulkier one that literally melded itself to Loki's wrist, plus it had a tracking device in it. The only reason that one wasn't _always_ left on was because it got in the way of his performances and the like. Thankfully it never left a tan line since Loki can't actually tan, being half Frost Giant. He needs the sun to live, but he still looks like he hasn't been out in it for as long as Natasha.

One time Loki even set Kleiser himself on fire. Loki was twenty years old, and it was just after a busy night that Kleiser brought him up to his room to be his last "client". Loki couldn't do it anymore, so he snapped his fingers and ran. That was where he got the scars on his back, rendering him unable to perform until the cuts scabbed over. Even then he could only dance, and with something covering his back it made it increasingly painful. Kleiser gave him lotions on occasion, but it was also part of his punishment. As soon as the scabs went away was when Kleiser took him in to get the scars removed, and then a few days later (after the surgery was healed) he could go back to the "private dances".

Two years before that, though, four months after Loki turned eighteen and Natasha was seventeen, is when Clint showed up. He took to Natasha instantly, and they were actually able to keep up a relationship for a few weeks. It ended mutually, with no hard feelings whatsoever. About eight months after he joined in, though, is when Kleiser started to force him to stay, and that was when Loki and Natasha's Double-Species Duo became the Captured Three.

Steve showed up at the age of nineteen, when Loki was twenty-one, Natasha was twenty, and Clint was twenty-two. They're all right next to each other in age, just one year away up the row. The blonde was terrible at dancing, but Natasha found he could sing rather well and was great in the bar. He was with a friend at first, named Bucky, who was the same age as Loki, but he was taken out and killed only the third day of being there.

Steve lost his "vaginal virginity" to Natasha on the second night (before Bucky's death) so she could teach him for the future. He slept with Loki next to lose his "anal virginity" in submission, and Clint was after that so he could learn the art of dominating. It was well known by then that Natasha's specialty was for masochists, Clint's for sadists, and Loki's for anyone who was into being dominated.

On the night of Loki's last attempted escape, he was twenty-two years old. It was also the last time he cried and the last time he smiled at someone other than Natasha, Clint, or Steve. He didn't really _try_ to escape, he just collapsed on the floor. When Kleiser opened the door, ready to punish him, he simply sat down beside him and gathered him into his arms. Loki didn't care _who_ was holding him, he just needed a place to cry. So he held onto the Other with such an intensity that he left three bruises, soaking the skin.

He swore at him a lot afterwards, throwing things around his room. But he had given up that night. He didn't know what else to do. So he stopped playing jokes on people, stopped smiling at those he made eye contact with, stopped making eye contact in general, and only took down somebody's name if it was written down on the electronic list he looked at to call in his clients.

But then, on a warm night in June (or maybe it was warm; Loki hadn't been outside when it got dark out), when Loki was twenty-five, he met a large blonde fellow with hair too wild to be dressed so nicely. He had clear blue eyes and broad shoulders, and gods, after Loki heard him speak in his language he had never wanted somebody so badly in his entire life. Loki did _not_ submit, and somehow the man was okay with that. He seemed too big to be okay with it, but he did just fine. Maybe Loki caught for him that night, but he was still the dominant one, and that made it alright.

Sometimes people questioned his submissive issues, but they didn't understand what it was like being forced to have a Chitauri penis inside of you almost _every fucking night_. Loki doesn't even like tongues anymore, but he can deal with them as long as they're nowhere near the anal region.

And now Loki is sitting in a bedroom different than his normal one, away from Kleiser's prying eye for one of the first times in years. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but that's alright. Everything will be alright…

**XxX**

Loki takes a deep breath, keeping back his tears. He will _not_ cry. It's been years since he's cried and he's not going to start again.

He looks up at Thor, the box of tissues sitting beside him. His hands are balled into fists and his eyes are dark with anger, but he says nothing.

Loki crawls over to him, cuddling up against his chest. "Will you hold me?" he asks quietly.

"I cannot," Thor grits out. "I fear I will crush you."

Loki leans back just enough to look at him. "I've never told anybody the entire story at once before."

Thor nods. "I am glad you trust me enough to do so."

He leans back against him, burying his face against his chest. He doesn't care if he won't submit during sex, it doesn't mean he can't be held every once in a while. "Please, Thor," he whispers.

Thor holds him tightly, just enough so that it doesn't hurt.

Loki tilts his head up, nudging at Thor's chin to look down at him. When he does Loki kisses him softly, breathing his scent in deeply. But the moment their lips separate, there's a knock on the door. He spins around, eyes wide. "They found me," he whispers, crawling off of the bed. "Oh gods, if there are cameras in here…" He spins around again, leaping all over the room to look for one.

But the doors burst open before he finds one, and three Chitauri stand there, looking as sick as always.

"You shouldn't have done all that, Loki," Bera says, grinning evilly at him. "Now we'll have to take him."

Loki's not going to have that. He snaps his fingers so all three of them combust, no way to put themselves out.

"And those make six," he mutters, turning to Thor. "There have never been cameras in this room," he says, going back to searching. "You won't get out of here in time." He gives up, going back over to Thor. "I'll have to combust you out of here. You have to get your friends out too or you'll be killed, do you understand me?"

"No," Thor growls, grabbing his arms. "I am not leaving you."

Loki licks his lips. "Kleiser will _kill_ you. Nobody gets as close to me as him. I won't _let_ you stay."

"I will not leave, Loki!" he yells, eyes hard. "I love you!"

Loki stares up at him, fearing the first tears since giving up. "Goodbye, Thor," he whispers. He snaps his fingers, and when the frost shatters, Thor is gone.

"How sweet of you," someone growls at the door. Loki turns to see Kleiser with two other Chitauri flanking him.

"I don't love him," Loki says, backing away from the door. He hasn't been punished in so long… He never should have given in to Thor. Just because they're both Norse? What a stupid reason. But also because he's so proper…and polite…so good at listening…so accepting. Fuck.

Kleiser grins. "I don't believe you."

"I don't know anything _about_ him to be in love with him!" Loki yells.

Kleiser comes into the room, stepping over the three charred bodies.

"Why did you wait so long to come in if you were watching the entire time?" Loki asks him angrily. "You could have let him live!"

"I wanted to hear the story as well," he says, stopping just in front of him. "I'm so disappointed in you, Loki. You've been so good for so long… And right before my vacation, too. Now I'll have to postpone my flight."

Loki just screams.

* * *

End branch authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of the second branch of part two! I don't really have any notes for this branch specifically, but just a warning for the next one: it's going to get hectic. Maybe a little bit confusing even since I've got to jump around in perspectives, but I think I did alright :) Anyway, hope you enjoyed my background story stuff :P

Any feedback is welcome, no feedback is also welcome! Whatever you wish, I will love you anyway.

PS branch 3 is super short, so heads up!


	6. Part II, Branch III

**Part II, Branch III: The Red Diamond Rescue**

_PHIL  
Time: 21:09_

Phil stomps out of the Skrull just as Clint's show ends, but he doesn't take time to talk to either of Bruce or Tony. He just bounds up the stairs, yanking out his cell phone to call Fury about the plan. It's not even twenty-two hundred yet; he'll still be awake.

Just before he dials, though, a raging fire bursts out on the sidewalk, causing pedestrians to leap away with screams. The fire begins to frost over, and when the entire fire is iced over it shatters, revealing a man inside.

"Thor?!" Phil asks, incredulous.

The blonde spins around frantically, eyes wide. "Phillip!" He leaps over to him. "Our friends, they are in danger!" Suddenly he starts speaking so fast that it's in Norse.

Phil pulls out his badge and shows it around to the people there: "SHIELD Police, we're under control. Go about your business, folks."

They instantly obey him, happy and carefree. As far as the world knows there are no _real_ problems within SHIELD—which is of course not true, but they're good at keeping those things secret.

"Thor, slow down and speak in _English_," he says, taking Thor's face in his hands. "You have to stay calm if you're going to be effective."

Thor takes a deep breath and stands up straight. From his wrist he pulls a red elastic hair tie, and he gathers up his locks to put it all into a ponytail. That's when Phil _knows_ something is going wrong. Thor hardly _ever_ puts his hair up.

"You must call in your agents, Phillip. Loki just told me everything and is to be punished for it. Anthony and Bruce will be killed if we do not get them out in time. We must rescue our four _now_ and shut the Chitauri down for _good_."

Phil mutters a silent apology to Steve before dialing Fury without hesitation.

"Evening, motherfucker," Fury growls in greeting. "What do you want?"

Phil grins. "We have a code Red Diamond, sir. I need backup and a shutdown crew _stat_."

"Granted. Do what you do best, agent. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Over and out." Phil hangs up and dials _red diamond_ as numbers: (733) 342-6663.

The only answer is a voice recording before it and Phil hangs up: "Command confirmed." His call location will now be traced, and agents will come immediately.

"Just five minutes," Phil says, patting Thor's bicep. "Five minutes and everyone will be safe."

**OoOoOoO**

_CLINT  
21:10_

Bruce gets to the door right as Clint is finishing up the retinal scan, so they meet in a savage kiss as they all but fall into the room, Bruce kicking the door shut behind them.

He pulls away a moment later, laughing. "You _are_ a mess," he says, holding Clint at arm's length as he looks him over.

Clint smirks. "There are rooms with showers, you know."

Bruce grins brightly. "Pressed up to you all wet and steamy? How could I resist?"

Clint laughs, spinning around him to get back over to the door. The moment he opens it, though, he's punched backwards by one of the three Chitauri guards there.

"Hey!" he yells, leaping over to Bruce. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Loki spilled his guts out to a non-client, and _he's_"—he points to Bruce—"involved. We have to take him or the word will get out about the four of you forced to stay here."

"Like _hell_ you're taking him," Clint growls, taking a protective stance in front of Bruce. "He's _mine_."

The Chitauri grin, and Clint is able to take two of them for a moment before the third one gets a kick straight to his stomach. He doubles over, and just as he's about to voice to Bruce the obvious command of him getting out of here, there's a _rip_ of fabric behind him. He rolls over to see the Chitauri backing away in fear, Bruce ripping out of his clothes like a sickness.

And he smiles, because Bruce is green, and he's wearing those stupid purple pants again, and he's just the _cutest_.

The Rage Monster roars, causing Clint and the three Chitauri to cover their ears in pain. There's no doubt in Clint's mind that every single person in the entire building, if not further, heard it. Hulk-Bruce smashes one of the Chitauri like a lump of clay, speckles of blood spurting out of his mouth and a number of other places. The other two make a run for it, yelling in their own language into the coms they always have hooked up.

Hulk-Bruce turns to Clint, anger all over his face and also glowing from him in the most intense red that Clint has seen in a long time. He barely keeps himself from laughing at the Christmas clash in the middle of June.

But then he remembers that he's still sitting doubled over on the ground in front of a Rage Monster, no guarantee of survival. Well, he is in love with danger…

He opens his mouth to try and calm Bruce down, but the Jolly Green Giant beats him too it: "Hawk-eye oh-kay?" he asks in a monstrous sort of growl.

Clint gives a huge smile. "Yeah, Jade Jaws. Hawkeye's okay."

He grunts, holding an arm out. Clint takes a giant finger before scaling up it, sitting back with his legs straddling his neck. Maybe Clint is running from the outside world, but not tonight. Tonight, Clint is running into it headfirst.

"Get us out of here, baby," he says, patting Hulk-Bruce's cheek. "Take us somewhere safe."

**OoOoOoO**

_NATASHA  
21:12_

"You got _sold_ into this?" Tony asks, choking a little on his scotch. "Nat, gods, I thought it was bad enough that you couldn't leave in the first place!"

Natasha shrugs, sipping at her water. She's supposed to be working, but…well, Tony's a client. She is working. "I'm over it. Twenty-two years is too long to hold a grudge."

Tony gets this almost creepy grin on his face, leaning up next to her. "Know how much you went for?"

She laughs, pushing him away. "You asshole! I was _two_!"

"Well _yeah_. They could raise you however they wanted! Not to mention being a rare double species. You learned Latin and Greek from other 'girls' and clients, right?"

She nods. "You really want to know what I went for?"

Tony grins. "Yeah."

Natasha smirks at him, tapping the tip of his nose. "The human trafficking price for a baby in Russia was seventeen-thousand five-hundred at the time. They classified me as a baby since I was only twenty-five months old at the time, so I should have gone for about eighteen-thousand. But…" She shrugs, taking another sip of her own drink. "Loki got the Other to tell him that I went for thirty-five thousand instead. That's only a thousand away from _double_ what I should have been."

Natasha expected a dropped jaw, but all Tony does is snort.

"Not impressed?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Nat, babe, even back then you were worth at _least_—"

He's cut off by a bang, and suddenly the Skrull is being straight _flooded_ with men and women in bulletproof vests, little eagles on their navy blue Spandex type suits. Everyone is being told to get on the ground and anyone trying to run is being tazed.

Tony is instantly off of his chair and standing in front of Natasha, arms wrapped around her from behind. She pressed herself against his back automatically. She's not used to being protected; she's been fighting for herself since the start.

The next thing Natasha knows, everyone is on the ground but her and Tony, and there's an agent before him. There's also a blonde sprinting passed Heimdall to the back rooms, five other agents going after him.

"Sorry," the agent in front of them says, an impressive looking gun in his hands. "Agent Phil Coulson, SHIELD police." He holds a hand out to her. "We're here to shut the place down. You'll never have to go by the name 'Black Widow' again." He smiles. "What's your name?"

Natasha reaches between Tony's arm and side, shaking the man's hand. "Natasha. What did you say you were from?"

Phil frowns. "SHIELD Police?"

"What's that?"

Phil blinks a lot, but before he can say anything else, Tony speaks: "It's a long story, bud. Where's Thor going?"

"He and a few other agents are going after Loki. Something about the Other punishing him. Know where Bruce is?"

"Wherever Clint is," Natasha and Tony say at once.

Phil smirks. "Well, where's the bird?"

Suddenly there's an earth shattering roar, and Tony and Phil both pale. "Shit," they whisper.

Natasha's suddenly left alone as the two men run through the room, yelling at everyone to get the fuck out of the way.

Natasha doesn't know what's happening, but she knows how to help it. She takes a deep breath and holds her arms out, doing what she does best: typing people up.

**OoOoOoO**

_THOR  
21:17_

Thor sprints passed Heimdall with a nod, five other SHIELD agents right behind him. They burst open every single door with the police technology, telling anyone they find to get dressed and get out before they're arrested. One of the rooms has the American Captain in it, but Thor does not have time to talk to him.

Three agents take the stairs to the Other's bedroom, and Thor and the other two keep going. There's only one door left, and they waste no time, breaking it down.

The room is completely empty but for Loki tied up on the floor, a metal gag over his mouth.

"Is it safe?" an agent asks.

Loki nods.

The three of them rush forward, freeing Loki of his bonds. Thor pulls Loki into his arms, kissing his forehead. "How badly are you hurt?" he asks.

"I'm not," Loki says, standing up. "He didn't have time to punish me. He got word of you guys coming through the coms and ran like a dog. I—I don't know why he didn't bring me with him."

Thor smiles, standing as well. "Let's get you out of here."

Loki doesn't get to answer. Instead there's an ear shattering roar, and Thor knows _exactly_ what it is.

Thor pales, whipping around. "Everybody move _very_ slowly…" He whispers. "Do not be loud and do not shoot your guns. The only thing you will hurt is yourself."

Loki presses himself against Thor's side. "Bruce?" he asks quietly.

"No," Thor replies, wrapping an arm around Loki's waist, motioning for the agents to get behind them. "Much worse."

**OoOoOoO**

_FURY  
21:19_

Nick Fury likes his job. He's good at it. But there are some days he does _not_ like his job, and today is one of those days. Why? Because of a lot of reasons. The first being the first thing he sees when he walks down the stairs of the Red Diamond location: a sexy redhead (who looks suspiciously like one of Fury's agents, but he knows she's not) in a matching gold bra and panties somehow lifting every non-agent up into the rafters with spider webbing. Their arms are webbed to their sides, their mouths are stuck shut (but nostrils open for breathing), their eyes are covered so they can't see, and their ears are covered so they can't hear.

The second is that Tony motherfucking Stark is standing beside her, the dumbest love struck look on his face that Fury has ever seen.

And the third, Fury's best agent called a Red Diamond on a _strip club_?

Just as he's about to growl over at Phil, a problem twice as big as all of those comes crashing through the door across the giant room. Except the Rage Monster is the calmest that Fury has ever seen. There's a man (also familiar looking) holding one of the giant fingers, and sitting up on the green shoulder is a patriotic blonde.

"Oh, wow!" the man holding the finger calls. That is a _lot_ of paint powder… "I didn't know the police would be out here or we wouldn't have tried so hard to rescue Steve! How about we _don't_ point our guns at my Brucey-kins, yeah?"

Coulson puts his gun away instantly, saying the same name of "Steve" very loudly as he rushes over to the Rage Monster that Fury knows very well is Dr. Bruce Banner. He helps the blonde down and then instantly backs away from Dr. Banner and the man covered in paint powder. Is that a skirt?

The Hulk looks down at the man in the powdered paint and grunts slightly.

He shakes his head and addresses Coulson: "They can't see who he is, Phil."

Coulson nods and waves an arm with three fingers up, signally for all agents to leave. When they hesitate, though, the redhead takes matters into her own hands:

"He said GET THE FUCK OUT!"

The agents move right away, nodding to Fury as they pass. There's also a man beside the door that the Hulk came through, but Fury knows at a glance that he's a Guardian. He's no Se Igennem, but it's hard to miss.

The only ones left are Coulson, Stark, Banner, the redhead, the blonde (Steve?), and the paint powdered kid.

"Where's Thor?" Stark asks.

"Here!"

Thor Odinson, two of Fury's agents, and an unknown emerge out of the doorway, edging around the Hulk.

"Loki!" the paint powdered exclaims, pulling away from the green giant to go to him. The Rage Monster pulls him back right away, though.

"Hawk stay," he grunts.

"Hawk" smiles up at him, crawling up his arm and kissing his cheek. Fury has not seen such bravery in a long, long time. "Alright. Hawk stay."

Fury steps closer, then. "Coulson," he barks.

The agent spins around. "Sir!"

"What the fuck is going on, agent?"

"Forced prostitution, abuse, sex slave, human trafficking, and murder!"

Fury blinks. Alright, Fury's best agent called a Red Diamond on a strip club. He's okay with that. "Got any proof?"

"So far just words, but trust me, there will be. I'm planning on sending agents around to find paperwork and other evidence." He points to the redhead, blonde Steve, the paint powdered, and the dark looking fellow with Odinson. "Those four are going to be the most helpful, especially the one with Thor."

Fury blinks at each of them individually. "Nick Fury," he says to introduce himself.

They all introduce themselves in an order that suggests they've done it a hundred times before. Loki is the dark one, Natasha is the redhead, Clint is the paint powdered (_now_ Fury knows where he's from; he'll deal with that later), and Steve is the patriotic blonde in the skirt.

"Do you know who Jade Jaws is?" Clint asks.

Fury blinks at him. "Jade _what_?" He shakes his head. "Never mind. Yes, we're friends."

Clint smiles, swinging around on the Hulk's neck to whisper something into his hear. The Hulk nods, turning back towards the door.

"Where do you think you two are going?" Fury asks.

Clint just flips him off without turning around.

Fury rolls his eyes. He doesn't have time for this. "Coulson, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

All of Stark, Odinson, Steve, Natasha, and Loki speak at the same time: "He's sure."

Phil gives a small smile. Fury doesn't like it. Phil never smiles on the job. "I'm sure, sir."

Fury nods. "Then _I'm_ going to bed. If I get one motherfucking interruption I will kill all of you personally. I want all eight of you in my Triskelion office tomorrow at noon, no exceptions" He spins around, heading right up the stairs without waiting for a response. The Triskelion is the island headquarters of SHIELD here in New York, a roadway just wide enough for two large trucks to drive side-by-side between it and the mainland.

"Sir?" Agent Maria Hill asks outside.

"Five minutes till _you_ go in alone, Hill," he says, pointing at her. "Do everything that Coulson says.

She nods. "Understood, sir."

Fury walks away down the sidewalk. To be honest, he lied. He _never_ likes his job.

* * *

End branch authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of the third branch of part two! This is easily the shortest branch in the entire fic. Haha. It's only like 15 pages while some of the first ones are 45 or 67 or whatever :P Anyhoo, that wasn't _too_ hectic :) Hopefully the times helped, and hey, if they didn't, that's alright too. Also, yes, Fury recognizes Clint—and you will understand why he thinks Natasha is familiar looking later. Woo plot twists XD

Any feedback is welcome, nothing is welcome too! Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Part II, Branch IV

**Part II, Branch IV: 1138ft of Pure Awesomeness**

_PHIL  
21:31_

Natasha lets everybody down after Fury walks out, but the only parts she takes off are the ears and mouth. The only way she'll let the arms and eyes go is after a name and number is given. That's when patrons are released to never come back, all the Chitauri are taken into custody (Natasha is able to name the exact ones that aren't accounted for in the end, and Phil can't help but smile just as wide as Tony has been the entire time), and employees go gather on the stage.

Bruce (back in his human form) and Clint come back about halfway through the gaining of names, Clint no longer a mess of rainbow color and Bruce in clothes that are certainly not his. They blend perfectly into the crowd so nobody who saw the Hulk knows that it was Bruce.

After there are only employees left, Agent Hill talks to all of them through one of the microphones about pay and a place to work (with this many people now out of a job, SHIELD can't just stick them out on the streets). Then they're sent to go get their regular clothes on, having their names checked off on the list before they're allowed to leave before coming back tomorrow (it's the easiest place for them all to meet since they know exactly where it is).

Natasha actually comes back out with an entire suitcase, Tony casting Phil a wink before tucking his jacket tighter around her. Seeing that she was in nothing but her underwear, Phil's glad that Tony has a little chivalry. Bruce and Clint are kissing against a wall, and Phil is surprised how PG they're being considering that one of them is a porn star.

Steve is standing by himself.

Phil goes slowly over to him, leaning against the wall beside him.

"I thought we were going to wait until Tuesday," the blonde says quietly.

"Thor came to me," Phil says. "The Other found out a lot of things and was going to kill Bruce and Tony."

Steve blinks a lot. "Oh." He smiles. "I'm glad we didn't wait, then."

Phil laughs, leaning against him for a moment. Steve pulls him back, holding him possessively around his waist.

"It's so surreal," he says, staring over at Tony and Natasha as they play Rock-Paper-Scissors. "I've only been here for four years, not to mention the times Clint and I are allowed out on the roof or to go shopping with Loki. I can easily get right back into the swing of things. Natasha, though…she's never swung before."

Phil smiles. "That's why Tony is perfect for her. He has all the time in the world to show her around."

"She's a vampire, though. She can't go into the sunlight."

Phil snorts. "The thing about Tony is that he's usually out and about up when it's dark out anyway. He sleeps in till two or three in the afternoon because he always stays up till six or so in the morning working on some project or watching a movie he's already seen before. He's actually a total internet geek. But that's perfect too because, the only time he actually goes outside is after it gets dark out. The sun hurts his eyes; that's why he always wears sunglasses if he has to go outside during the day."

Steve smiles too. "Then they _are_ perfect."

Phil elbows him. "Come on, I have to talk about the Other."

He gathers up his three friends and the three of Steve's, keeping his voice low as he explains the situation of the Other's escape. They'll find him, though. There aren't that many Chitauri in the world—and Natasha can name all of them anyway.

"And the execution?" Loki asks. "We will get to perform it?"

Phil looks up at him. "I'll make sure of it."

Loki, Steve, Clint, and Natasha all share silent looks before nodding.

"Can we go home now?" Bruce asks quietly.

"Home?" Natasha asks darkly. "This _is_ our home. Where can _we_ go? Are there shelters anywhere that we would—"

"With us," Tony says, pulling her closer. "All eight of us can go to my place. It's the biggest, has the most food, and is installed with the best security."

Clint frowns. "But I want to see Brucey's house," he pouts.

Tony shrugs. "It'll just be for the first night, since we have to go to SHIELD to figure all of this shit out in the morning."

Thor smiles. "That is a fine idea, my friend! It is important that we are as safe as we can be tonight."

"Not to mention how excited Jarvis will be about meeting new people," Bruce says.

"Who?" Steve asks.

Tony grins. "My AI. You'll see."

Natasha gives an almost evil sort of smirk. "It controls all your security?"

"_He_ controls all my security, plus everything else."

"Can I try to hack him?"

All of Phil, Tony, Bruce, and Thor burst into laughter.

"Nat, babe," Tony chokes out around tears. "If you can hack my Jay I will literally buy you whatever you want, no matter the cost.

Natasha and Clint share a look. "Deal!" they say together.

"Excuse you," Tony says, flitting his wrist at the Comedy Night host (Phil will have to hear a few of his jokes sometime, since he missed it). "Am I fucking _you_? I don't think so."

Phil rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright, we have to be at SHIELD in just over twelve hours. Let's get going."

Tony sticks his tongue out and yanks out his phone. "Let me call Happy."

Tony walks around in circles while on the phone, and in that time, Steve, Clint, and Loki take Thor and Bruce back to where they slept so they can pack a suitcase of the few things they have, like Natasha did. The only reason Phil doesn't go too is because Natasha wants to talk to him.

"Will he keep me?" she asks quietly.

Phil frowns. "Tony?"

"Yes. My parents sold me into this. I'm not letting anybody leave me ever again. If he's just going to give up on me then I want to get out while I still can."

Phil looks over at Tony, who smiles and waves at them before growling annoyed-like into his phone and ignoring them again.

Phil looks back over at Natasha, a sad smile on his lips. "When Tony's parents died in a car accident, he didn't even care. He didn't go to the funeral or even pay for one he didn't have to attend. Their own friends had to put it together. After that and after what was in the wills had gone out, Tony sold what he could before burning everything else. That's how distant he was from them. The closest he's ever been to me is going through the only _four_ baby pictures he has. To Bruce they build things and cuss at each other when they're mad or when somebody turns down Tony's music. He and Thor had the only working friends-with-benefits I have ever encountered in my entire life, and now that you and Loki have come along it's going to stop and all they've have is drunk karaoke nights and complaining about the economy.

"Tony does _not_ like people or parties or even being drunk in the first place no matter how much he pretends that he does. He's not an easy person to stay with anyway. He…" Phil purses his lips, glancing over at Tony before looking back at the woman previously known as the Black Widow. "Natasha, I think he's more afraid of _you_ leaving _him_ than as afraid as you could _ever_ be about it being the other way around. He cried to Thor, once, while they were drunk. He was afraid that him, Bruce, and I would leave him alone to fend for himself. He used to push people away, back before we all knew Thor, but something about the blonde changed something in him that I don't really understand. The point is he _wants_ you, Natasha, and he's not going to leave you. The real problem is if you're going to be able to handle that."

Natasha blinks at him for a few seconds before swallowing slightly. She looks over at Tony, who's now giving them a slightly concerned look, off of his cell phone and just staring. Natasha smiles brightly and waves at him before looking back at Phil. "I've never wanted anybody before. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do to make sure it works."

Phil shrugs. "He's never wanted somebody like you, either, so you're both in the same boat. Tell you what, though. If you ever need any help, come talk to me. There are tons of agents I could get out here to help you fix whatever it is you're going through. We have all sorts."

Natasha smiles just as Tony shrugs and walks over to them. "Thanks," she says, taking Tony's hand without looking at him. "I'll keep it in mind."

Phil nods with a smile as well. "Of course."

Tony frowns at them both. "Who do I have to kill to know what you two were talking about?" he asks.

Natasha smirks over at him. "So how much _would_ I have been worth?" she asks.

Tony grins. "Two million, _easy_. Now tell me what you were talking about."

She laughs. "We were going over the dirt on you," she says. "I hear you have drunk karaoke nights with Thor?"

Phil laughs at the tiny little blush that creeps over Tony's neck, going over to Steve as he, Clint, and Bruce come back out. "Get everything?" he asks.

Steve holds up the smallest suitcase that Phil has ever seen. "Yup."

Clint comes over and leans against Steve, cocky smile on his face. "We don't have as much as Natasha because she grabbed a whole bunch of outfits, as well as some things she would use for…clients."

Phil tilts his head slightly. "And you guys don't want any of that?"

Clint shrugs. "I grabbed a couple things, but other than that there's just a couple empty pictures frames and I'm wearing one of my only three non-show outfits."

"It's the same for me," Steve says with a shrug. "We didn't get out much."

Suddenly Loki and Thor come back out, Loki with one giant suitcase and Thor with one and a duffle bag over his shoulder. They walk up to them, smiles on their faces. They fade, though, when they see how Phil is blinking down at them.

"What?" Loki asks. "

Steve rests a hand on Phil's shoulder. "Loki got out a _lot_ more than we did."

"Didn't the Other buy all of those things for you?" Phil asks him.

Loki shrugs. "Yes, but they _were_ things that I wanted. I'm not going to pull out my piercings just because he paid for them."

"He left behind other things," Thor says, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let us not talk about them."

Phil nods, turning around to face Tony. "Is Happy here?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Tony says, pulling away from the kiss with Natasha. "He's waiting outside."

Natasha seems to pale a little bit—which is a feat all in itself seeing that she's a vampire and hasn't seen the sun all her life in the first place. "It's dark out, right?" she asks.

Tony looks over at Phil. "What time is it?"

Phil checks his watch. "Twenty-two thirteen."

He snorts. "Yeah, we'll be fine."

Natasha nods, pressing up to him. "Sounds safe enough."

So they make their way out. The place is still crawling with SHIELD agents, who simply nod at them as they make their way out. It's actually adorable the way that Steve and Clint have to slowly coax Natasha out of the building and up the stairs, her blue eyes as wide as the doorway and her body tense. Phil was under the impression that she wasn't afraid of anything, but…well, when you've been inside for as long as you can remember and only have the internet to see a thing, not to mention the possibility of bursting into flames if hit by the sun…well, anyway, Phil would probably be afraid too. He doesn't blame her.

Happy greets them all…happily…and drives them straight to Stark Tower.

"_You_ own this?" Clint asks, hands and face pressed to a window.

"Yes, now get your greasy prints off my private glass," Tony says, pressing a button beside him to open two sunroofs. "I have ceilings for that."

Clint grins wildly as he all but leaps up, swinging up so he can sit up on the roof. Loki cocks an eyebrow before going with him, simply standing and holding tightly to Clint's thigh so he doesn't fall out. Steve and Natasha stick out of the other one, Natasha crawling up Steve's side so he can hold her up on his hip.

Phil can't help but smile at them, and when he notices Bruce, Tony, and Thor grinning as well he smiles even greater. "We're so lucky," he says to them, knowing the four can't hear because of the wind outside.

They all look over at him. "Tell me about it," Tony says. "What are the odds that we all happened to fall for and get the _only_ four with a number?"

"They're not numbers anymore, Tone," Bruce says quietly.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Alright, the only four that _used_ to have a number. The point is, they're all already friends and we just have to worry about them working against us for a prank or two."

Loki sticks his head down. "Did someone say 'prank'?"

Clint sticks his head down and laughs before he and Loki swing back in, spinning over so that Loki can sit down beside Thor and Clint can flop over Bruce's lap.

"Gods, I love the dark," Loki says. "Kleiser would never let me out when it was dark because I was working. Even on Sunday's he'd be afraid that I would try to get away again."

"You are safe now, Loki," Thor says, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders. "He cannot get to you while you are around either four of my friends and I."

Steve and Natasha come back down when Happy parks, all of them crawling out and letting some bellhops get their suitcases—after Natasha hisses at one of them, anyway, and Tony has to calm her down and tell her that it's their job to do that. Then he directs where it is they're supposed to go before the bellhops scamper off.

"How tall is this thing, anyway?" Clint asks, looking around the lobby.

Tony wrinkles his nose up. "Um…one-thousand, one-hundred, and thirty-eight feet of pure awesomeness. I think."

"Shit!" Clint and Natasha say in unison.

"How many floors are there?" Steve asks.

Tony laughs. "_That_ I have no idea. I did when I had it built, but that was like, four years ago. The elevator doesn't even have buttons, I just tell Jarvis where I want to go."

"What's all inside?" Loki asks.

"Of the elevator? Well, uh, you know…mirrors?"

"The whole building, you ass."

"Uh…well…this is the lobby… Kitchen and services are a few floors above and around, above them are the headquarters for my business, private quarters for guests and the like above that, the dining halls are next, there's a shit ton of floors for recreation and leisure areas, _then_ there's my party deck, followed by all my laboratories, and finally the penthouse! We've also go interrogation rooms below—don't ask why I have those—and the power source at the very bottom." He looks over at Natasha. "It's like this thingy"—he taps his chest, where Phil knows his miniature arc reactor is; obviously she had to see that—"but _way_ bigger."

Phil has never seen so many dropped jaws at one time, and then all four of them are speaking at once:

"Laboratories?" Steve asks with sparkling eyes. "That means blueprints, right? I like blueprints."

"Interrogation rooms?" Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. "That means torture weapons, right? I like weapons."

"Party deck?" Clint asks brightly. "That means alcohol, right? I like alcohol."

"Leisure areas?" Loki asks, face staying exactly the same. "That means silent areas, right? I like silence."

Phil, Tony, Bruce, and Thor all share looks before laughing again.

"You're right, Tony," Bruce says, wiping his eyes. "The only thing we have to worry about is them working together against us for a prank or two."

Tony grins, looking at all of them. "Yes, that means blueprints, alcohol, weapons, _and_ silence."

Phil purses his lips. "Why do the _blueprints_ interest you, Steve?" he asks.

Steve shrugs. "I draw a lot, and most of the time I'm only able to draw buildings since people aren't going to pay me to sketch a picture of them like one of Jack's French gi—"

"Steve, babe," Natasha says, patting his bicep. "You and I are the only ones who understand that reference."

Steve sighs. "Oh yeah. Nobody's going to pay me to sketch them. I got a lot of exterior architectural design practice, anyway. Some interior here and there while I guessed what the inside of buildings looked like, but not as much."

Thor lights up. "You are good at architecture?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm okay, I guess. It was just something to pass the time."

Loki actually laughs. "He's good," he says, looking up at Thor. "Trust me."

They make their way over to the elevator, Tony pressing "up". "So, where are we going?" he asks, looking around at everyone else as they wait for it to get to them.

"I'm hungry," Phil, Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Loki all say at once.

Bruce and Clint share a look before Bruce tells Tony that he can drop them off at the bedrooms.

"We will save you some food," Thor says with a laugh.

The elevator dings open, and then the instant it closes behind them all, Tony looks up at the blue censor strip around the top. "Heyuh, Jay!"

"Good evening, sir," Jarvis says politely. "Back so soon?"

Steve, Natasha, Loki, and Clint all look fascinated.

Tony laughs. "Long story. You'll hear all about it later, I'm sure."

"If you are referring to SHIELD's Red Diamond of the Skrull downtown then I have already heard about it."

"Figures," Bruce says. "You're hooked up the satellite, aren't you?"

"Illegally, yes," Jarvis replies. "What floor would you like?"

"Drop Bruce and his boy at his room, yeah?" Tony says.

"Of course. May I be introduced, sir?"

Tony grins, looking around the elevator at Natasha, Steve, Loki, and Clint. "Guys, this is Jarvis, my AI. Jay, I want you to meet Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Loki."

"Lovely to meet you, sirs and ma'am."

The four all give different answers:

"Hello!" is Steve's, "Hi!" is Natasha's, "Sup?" is Clint's, and Loki's is silence.

After dropping of Bruce and Clint, Tony instructs Jarvis to go up to the penthouse.

"Do you want to cook, Phil?" Tony asks when they all get out of the elevator. "Or should I just send up the chefs?"

"Are they even still here?" Phil asks, going over to the small kitchen of the penthouse.

Tony laughs. "Good point. Looks like you're cooking."

Steve smiles. "You can cook?"

"He cooks very well," Thor says, taking Loki over to the giant window.

"His steaks are to _die_ for," Tony says, taking Natasha over to the unlit fireplace.

Phil rolls his eyes, opening up the fridge. "I'm better than they are, anyway," he says.

"I'm alright at it," Steve says. "I like pastries best. It's fun to decorate the cakes and things."

Phil smiles, opening up the freezer. "Sounds like fun. Are any of you vegetarian?"

He holds back a painful looking snort. "Um, no. No we're not."

"Then my steak's to die for it is."

**OoOoOoO**

_NATASHA  
23:34…_

"_Gods_ I love steak!" Natasha sings as she finishes her last bite. "You made it perfect, Phil."

"Well, when you told me all you wanted it cooked was defrosting it, I didn't have too much trouble," he says with a shrug.

Tony laughs, finishing off his second glass of wine. "Mine was good too, Phil. If you weren't already with SHIELD I would totally hire you."

"I get him first!" Thor booms from the kitchen as he rinses his plate.

Loki laughs beside him, finishing off his glass of chocolate vodka. Loki loves everything about chocolate, whether it be too sweet for the sweetest person or too bitter for the most bitter. He doesn't care as long as it's chocolate. "I second that motion. I've never had a better cooked steak."

"More like _burnt_ steak," Tony says, standing up and taking both his and Natasha's place and glasses, to which Natasha gives a smile and a nod in thanks. "I never took you for a rare sorta guy, Lo'."

Loki gives a dark look. "I'm one of the rarest you'll ever come across, Stark."

Natasha and Steve share brief looks of panic before Steve pushes his chair back from his empty plate. "Wow, I sure am full!" he all but yells.

"Tell me about it!" Natasha says loudly back. "Aaanyway, Tony…"

He looks over at her with a cocked eyebrow, and she motions for him to come over to her. He shrugs and asks Thor if he can rinse his plate before going over to her. "What?" he asks. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Yes," she hisses. "Loki is a Nordic Duobus Diversis Mapagparayan. The reason the Other kept him is _because_ he's rare!"

Tony groans quietly. "How was I supposed to know that?! He wanted a rare steak; it' was a _joke_!"

"It's okay, just…never again. You have to be careful around Loki. He's not very sensitive unless it involves things specifically involving the Other—which I'm sorry to say is a very random sequence of events, so you're just going to have to guess some of the time."

Tony sighs. "Yeah, alright, I'll do my best."

She nods. "Want to watch a movie?"

Tony smiles. "In my private room? Yes, I would love to."

Natasha smirks, neither of them saying anything to the other four as Tony leaders her up a small pair of stairs, to where there's a door and Tony punches a few numbers into a key code before they can go inside.

Natasha smiles, looking around the room. One of the walls is nothing but a window, but there are thick black curtains waiting to be drawn. Natasha will only burst into flame if touched by the sun itself, so it's won't _kill_ her if she doesn't shut the curtains…but it will begin to burn her slowly. With the window in the way it blocks the main rays, but it's still painful. So she goes and closes them before she looks around the room even a little bit more, Tony giving a chuckle.

The rest of the room is decorated in nothing but creamy white and different shades of blue, with a king sized bed, thick carpet, two large dressers, a nightstand, a flat screen TV between the two dressers, a heavily cushioned loveseat, one of the armless dining room chairs (for what reason, Natasha has no idea), a walk-in closet, and a bathroom that Natasha can't really see inside from here. Natasha goes over to it and peeks inside, wherein there's a _huge_ shower, a Jacuzzi bathtub, and the usual toilet, counter, and mirrors _everywhere_.

"I'm surprised there's not more red and gold around," Natasha says, coming back out to an empty room, but she looks around to find Tony in the closet.

He laughs. "Pepper shopped for me."

Natasha cocks an eyebrow. "Did she bring Salt along, by chance?" she asks sarcastically.

Tony rolls his eyes at her. "Her real name is Virginia. I call her Pepper because she's got freckles. She's my secretary, ex-girlfriend, and surrogate mother. Long story."

Natasha shrugs. "Tell me if you feel like it, but before you do…why do you have one of the dining room chairs in your room?"

"I don't feel like it, but thanks," he says without looking away as he changes his clothes into softer looking things. He was in jeans and a button up, but now he's got his shoes off and is dressing up in baggy red sweats and a long sleeve shirt with a hole cut out where his arc reactor is. Natasha _still_ doesn't know what that is or what it really does. "The chair, though, is in here for lap dances. The bed's too high and the loveseat's just awkward, so I got creative."

Natasha snorts, walking out to flop onto the loveseat as Tony comes out and picks up the TV remote. "As good a reason as any, I supposed."

Tony shrugs. "I don't use it very often, to be honest."

Natasha smirks over at him, knowing she looks hot in her pose across the couch in her shiny leather pants, gold heels, and blood red tube top. "Bet I could fix that."

Tony looks over at her with a sly sort of smile. "Yeah?"

"In a little while, anyway. We just ate, after all."

He laughs, walking backwards to sit down on the end of the bed, clicking around through the TV. "Good idea. Have you ever actually done one before?"

"Not specifically, but I got taught how to do them plenty of times, not to mention all the dancing I do on stage."

Tony nods. "Good point."

She smiles, rolling off the loveseat to crawl over and sit beside him. "Do you have a specific selection of movies or can you choose anything you want?"

Tony snorts. "Tony Stark with a limited selection? As if. Jarvis is hooked up to the satellite anyway, remember?"

"Yes, I also remember it's illegally. Nice touch. Am I allowed to make a selection?"

Tony snorts. "I'd let you, but my database doesn't go back past the nineteen hundreds."

"Har, har, you're so funny. The one I want is from 2007, you prick."

He laughs, turning the remote sideways and clicking around until a search bar pops up. "Title away, then."

"Death Proof."

It comes up right away, and Natasha presses the okay button before he can read the details.

"Hey now," he says, holding it away from her. "My remote."

She gives a good natured eye roll, taking off her heels before crawling over to the back of the bed while saying, "You'll get over it. Come sit with me."

Tony shrugs and does, both of them bunkering down underneath the covers as the credits start. It's an odd sensation, being cuddled. Natasha's not sure if she likes it or not. Tony's sitting up straight, but Natasha's slumped down a bit and leaning against his side while one of his arms is draped over her shoulders, his hand rubbing absentmindedly at her shoulder. Natasha feels safe at the same time that she's in control, which is not something she's felt _often_. The only time Natasha ever felt safe was when she was sleeping in Steve's arms, and even more so when she had Clint on his other side so she knew that he was safe too. She always had to fear for Loki…

"I am getting really fucking sick of this chicks feet," Tony mutters only a minute into the opening credits.

"Shut up and love it," Natasha says.

Not yet halfway through the movie, the scene of Natasha's reason for choosing this movie comes on. Tony gets it instantly: "Wait a minute, she's going to give him a lap dance! You played this on purpose!"

"Yup," Natasha says, turning the volume up. "Shut up, I like this song."

"Oh, you _wish_." With the movie still going, Tony rolls over, pinning Natasha beneath him. He kisses her softly, coaxing her tongue into his mouth before sucking lightly.

Natasha kisses him back for a few seconds before pulling away with a laugh, pushing him off of her. "Alright, alright, get into that chair, dammit."

He grins happily and leaps over to it, spinning it around right before sitting down. Natasha grins, noticing a blue censor strip around the room and looking up at it. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Natasha?"

"You can play whatever song I want, right?"

"Correct, miss. Mr. Stark is correct in saying that it does not go beyond the nineteen hundreds, though."

"That's okay, this song is 1956."

Tony sputters. "Good _gods_, the nineteen _fifties_? Why are you so into the stuff that's old as _fuck_?"

She shrugs. "Sometimes, when I couldn't sleep, instead of practicing my dances or the like, I would go onto my limited internet connection and research my species. _I_ didn't know anything about us since nobody had ever told me. Anyway, I found some really old dates, and…well, sometimes you just keep clicking link after link and end up in some really weird places, you know? I only need a very limited amount of sleep, so it was easy to stay up all night watching old movies and listening to old music and swooning over dead actors. I liked it all and I didn't want to give it up. That's why Steve and I are the closest; we both like old things."

Tony tilts his head slightly. "I was under the impression that you and Clint were closest."

She snorts. "No, not really. Clint's for Loki. Clint and I actually had a romantic relationship when he first started working at the Skrull, before he was forced to stay there, and…" She shrugs. "I don't know, it made us sort of distant. Relationships can do that, and I saw and heard about plenty of those. Loki and Clint were together most anyway when they were practicing for the night to come. Loki dominates and Clint submits." She shrugs. "It was simple. Steve and I didn't do any of that near as often, partly because it was weird for him and partly because I wasn't getting any practice out of it. Anyway…"

She licks her lips and looks back up at the censors. "'Down in Mexico' by the Coasters."

Tony wrinkles his nose up. "It _sounds_ old."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't play it yet, Jay. I have to put something else on first."

Tony frowns. "But I _like_ the leather pants."

"They're not as easy to move in as you want them to be," Natasha says, grabbing up her strapless gold heels and making her way over to the closet. She looks around the room for the ugliest button up she can find before giving up because there is literally nothing unattractive in this closet, unhooking a simple red button-up dress shirt instead. Is it even possible for somebody to own this much red? It's almost pathetic, but she's happy to let it continue. Red and gold _do_ go well together, after all, and she happens to like gold very much. She quick gets out of her present outfit, leaving on the matching gold bra and underwear (it's completely different from the pair that was _red_ and gold, with a different style and fabric amount and everything) before pulling on the red button-up, buttoning just high enough that you can't see the bra. She leaves her heels off, knowing she won't fall but wanting to be safe for the first time she's actually giving one of these dances.

"You know the rules for these things, right?" she calls, sticking just her head around the frame so he can't see her clothes. She's not overly attractive or anything, she just knows that men love it when you wear their shirts—especially when it's too big for you. She's also rolled up the sleeves to the middle of her forearms so they don't flop around and get in the way.

"Try me," he says back.

"You're not allowed to touch me unless I move your hands to do so!"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Alright, Jarvis," she says up to the blue censors in the closet. Tony must be really paranoid or something. "Just play the rest of the Death Proof album with lyrics after this song is over, yeah? Because after the dance is over he's going to want to fuck me into tomorrow and I feel like a little music. Just…I don't know, what's your capacity? Can you choose the song you think fits best in the moment?"

"Of course, Miss Natasha. I can do that and more.

She grins. She wants to hack him so bad. She hacked into the Other's computer once, even. There was nothing personal on it, to be honest. Just a lot of pictures of Loki (some that made Natasha sick, even, partly because Loki looks like he's about to cry and also because some of his positions looked downright painful). "Brilliant. Start the Coasters now."

The version of the song from the movie is three minutes and twenty-three seconds long (two-hundred and three seconds), which Natasha knows because Nefertiti (the woman that taught her all of the most moves) would always make sure this song was played, timing it just right and counting it off in seconds. Natasha knows that Tony hasn't ever had her before (because she stopped working at the Skrull years ago and moved to Hawaii with some rich fool that made the mistake of falling in love with her), so she's safe to just do exactly what she always did.

The first twenty-one seconds of the song is instrumental, so she instantly steps out of the closet, facing away from Tony, swinging her hips slowly and pushing her hands up into her hair. She drops her hands out of her hair and drags them down her shoulders at six seconds and turns around to face him at eleven, walking slowly over to him at thirteen. She pushes her fingers through his hair as she walks around him, giving him a sly smile as he rotates his head to keep watching her. She pushes his head forward so he can't, dragging a finger down the back of his neck as she circles him, ending up on his other side right at twenty-one seconds when the lyrics come in.

She mouths the words as they the song goes on, continuing her dance.

_Down in Mexicali__  
__There's a crazy little place that I know…__  
_

She walks three feet away from him and moves her hips once to the left and once to the right before bending her knees and sinking towards the floor, bouncing just slightly and rubbing her hands up and down her legs for four seconds as Carl Garner sings to her moves.

_Where the drinks are hotter  
than the chili sauce__  
__and the boss is a cat named Joe._

She rises, dragging a hand up her thigh and to her side before turning around to continue dragging her hand up the side of her breast and to her shoulder. She pushes her hands up into her hair again, grinding down to the floor with her knees together before dragging her hands down her chest and to her knees, spreading her legs apart but keeping her feet together.

_He wears a red bandana__  
__Plays a cool piana__  
__(In a honky tonk, down in Mexico.)_

He wears a purple sash  
and a black moustache

___(In honky tonk, down in Mexico.)_

She bends down to the ground and starts to crawl towards him at thirty-nine seconds, shaking her head back and forth twice before crawling up him at fifty. She smoothes her hands over his shoulders and puts their faces just close enough that their noses touch before dragging her hands down his chest and backing slightly away.

_Well, the first time that I saw him__  
__He was-a sittin on a piano stool__  
__I said "Tell me man, when does the fun begin?"__  
__He just winked his eye and said "Man, be cool."_

She steps up on the chair between his legs with her left foot, leaning forward on it so that her knee brushes his stomach. She reaches her hands out and pushes them both through his hair, leaning her head down to breath against his neck before pulling away again. She bites her bottom lip and drags her hands up her chest, undoing the top three buttons of the shirt so that it hangs open enough to see her bra.

She drops her foot from the chair and spins around slowly at sixty-nine seconds, raising her hands into the air before dragging them down to rest on her hips as she lowers herself to sit on his lap. His hands are gripping tightly to the sides of the chair seat, not touching her like the rules command. She drapes herself backwards over him, leaning against his chest and dropping her neck back to rest her head against his shoulder.

_He wears a red bandana__  
__Plays a cool piana__  
__(In a honky tonk, down in Mexico.)__  
__He wears a purple sash  
and a black moustache__  
__(In a honky tonk, down in Mexico.)_

At seventy-eight seconds she reaches her hands up, her left arched around his neck to push up the back of his hair and her right playing into her own. She drops her hands down to his hands at eight-two seconds, lifting them off of the chair and bringing them to her thighs and dragging them up the shirt to her stomach.

Tony lets out the tiniest of breathy moans, causing Natasha to arch her neck just right so they make eye contact and she can smile at him.

She drags his hands around for eleven seconds, ghosting once over her breasts before pulling his hands down to her hips at ninety-three. She stands then, slowly, leaving his hands on her hips and keeping her knees slightly bent so her ass can stay above his lap.

At ninety-nine seconds, the song changes keys and speeds up.

_(In Mexico!)__  
__All of a sudden in walks a chick.__  
__(In Mexico!)__  
__Joe starts playin' on a Latin kick.__  
__(In Mexico!)__  
__Around her waist she wore three fishnets.__  
__(In Mexico!)__  
__She started dancin' with the castanets._

That's another reason Natasha loves this song: Latin kicks!

She swivels her hips at the newly increased speed to match the music, lifting her hands into the air or spreading them out for the occasional boost in balance, dropping them once to her chest so she can undo the rest of the buttons of the red shirt.

_(In Mexico!)__  
__I didn't know just what to expect.  
(In Mexico!)__  
__She threw her arms around my neck.  
(In Mexico!)__  
__We started dancin' all around the floor.  
(In Mexico!)__  
__Until she did a dance I never saw before._

At one-hundred and fifteen seconds she drops her hands from the shirts and rests them on his thighs, continuing to swivel her hips. She drapes backwards over him once, letting the shirt fall open to reveal to Tony her bra and whatever exposed skin he has view of, grinding her ass against his groin and pulling another breathy moan out of him, his hands still on her hips.

She stands back up moment later and, at one-hundred and twenty-eight seconds she raises one hand high in the hair before bending downwards, keeping her knees straight and sweeping her hand slowly down to the floor.

The key of the song changes again at one-hundred and thirty-three.

_So if you're south of the border__  
__I mean down in Mexico…__  
__And you wanna get straight__  
__Man, don't hesitate__  
__Just look up a cat named Joe._

She whips back up in a standing position, hair flipping over her head to land against her back, and sashays away from him in a slight arc, mouthing the words and giving him a seductive smile. There's a good sized tent against his sweats, causing her to grin at him.

At one-hundred and fifty seconds she goes back over to him.

_He wears a red bandana__  
__Plays a cool piana.__  
__(In a honky tonk, down in Mexico.)__  
__He wears a purple sash  
and a black moustache.__  
__(In a honky tonk, down in Mexico.)_

She stands sideways between his spread legs, pushing left hand into her hair as she sways her hips and rests her right hand against his left shoulder before swinging up the leg closest to him and lowering herself onto his lap again. She grabs his right hand and wraps her own right hand around his neck before bending herself slowly backwards, placing Tony's hand onto her stomach.

At one-hundred and seventy the song changes in which Carl Garner starts speaking the lyrics instead.

_Yeah, como esta usted senorita__  
__Come with me to the border, south of the border, that is.__  
__In Mexico, yeah in Mexico__  
__You can get your kicks in Mexico__  
__Crazy, come with me baby, come with me, come with me, crazy, yeah._

Until the end of the song she slowly lifts herself up, and once she's up she grinds herself lightly into his lip, biting her bottom lip before standing up and spinning around once so that his shirt flares out and her hair whips around her face.

She grins as it ends and smiles over at him. "And _that's_ what I learned about lap dances."

"Oh my _gods_," Tony chokes out, grabbing her by her thighs and pulling her forward so that she ends up straddling his waist. "I have never had to use so much willpower for my own hands in my life."

The next song that comes on is "Hold Tight!" by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich. Natasha's actually extremely turned on herself, the foreplay all about being sexy enough to get somebody hot and bothered.

"Yeah?" she whispers.

"_Oh_ yeah." He kisses her hard, hands moving all over her body, pushing the red shirt off in the process. One of Tony's hands slide down between her legs, slipping into the underwear and stroking. She moans lightly into his ear.

"Unff, babe," he whispers against the skin of her neck. "You're so wet…" He sinks a finger in. "So tight…"

An almost feral growl leaps from Natasha's throat. "Gods, Tony, fuck me!"

She isn't even taken aback at the outburst this time. Tony obviously brings out something inside of her, and she's down to figuring out just exactly what it is.

Tony complies happily, lifting Natasha up just enough that he can push his sweats down to his knees, where they slip on their own to his ankles. They don't even take off Natasha's underwear; Tony just pushes aside the fabric that's in the way and holds his cock up for Natasha to go back down. She sinks down only a tad slowly, bouncing to slicken him up before pushing down to the hilt. They both moan obscenely, Natasha's hands braced around his neck and Tony's hands gripping tightly enough to her hips to leave easy bruises on her skin.

"Oh, Nat, babe," he moans as she moves up and down on him, her knees bent and feet braced on the chair. "You feel so _good_."

He reaches his hands up to her back, unclipping her bra and tossing it aside. He takes both of her breasts at once in his hands, kneading against them.

All at once it hits her, the orgasm ripping through her like a sickness. She pushes him back against the chair, his hands dropping to her hips again as she keeps pumping, and bends down to bite his neck. No poison secretions or any of that, just a bite she knows that clients pay extra for.

Tony clutches her so tightly it almost hurts, instantly brought to his own mind blowing release as well.

She makes sure she doesn't take too much of his blood (but _gods_ she wants to; he tastes so fucking good) before pulling away, both of them breathing heavily.

Once slowed, Tony speaks: "I just realized you have no idea how old I am."

Natasha breathes a laugh, pulling her up and off of him before stepping off of the chair. "You're twenty-seven," she says, stripping off her underwear. "Where the fuck is my suitcase?"

He smiles. "How'd you know? And Jay, the ladies question?"

"It is sitting at the bottom of your stairs, sir," Jarvis replies. "The other cases are where they were directed as well."

"Clint told me," Natasha says as she goes over to the door, peeking out before slipping down the stairs to see an empty penthouse. She grabs her suitcase and halls it up, closing the door behind her and setting it up on the floor.

She digs around inside of it for a different pair of bottoms, ending up with a pale turquoise boy shorts, and as she's buttoning Tony's red shirt back on to sleep in she notices Tony just _staring_ at her. She pauses, staring back.

"What?" she asks at length.

He smiles warmly up at her. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

She gives a good natured eye roll, continuing to button up the shirt and heading towards the bathroom. "Would you settle for anything less?"

"I'm serious, Nat!" he says, jumping up and out of his pants and grabbing her hand. He spins her around and swings her over to the bed, going over to land on his hands and knees above her. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" He leans down and gives her a short, soft kiss. "I'm never letting you go."

Natasha stares up at him. This is what she and Phil talked about, right? It's not hard for Tony to keep someone; it's hard for anyone to _want_ him to keep them. If Natasha wanted to get out while she could, it's too late now.

So she smiles up at him and says, "And I'll never give you a reason to want to."

He leans down and kisses her again, and when he pulls away she just can't help but ask: "Now, when do I get to try and hack Jarvis?"

Even the AI himself simply laughs.

**OoOoOoO**

_LOKI  
22:39…_

Loki watches Natasha run up the stairs, a huge smile on her face. He can't help but smile as well, glad that she's happy. He's happy, too. Tony only brought up his rarity on accident, after all. They're perfect for each other as far as Loki can tell—not that he's one for telling. He's the absolute worst at reading people because he doesn't like them; he hasn't paid enough attention to them to figure out a good way to do so.

Thor pulls him from his thoughts with a kiss to the forehead. "It is late," he says. "Would you like to sleep?"

Loki laughs. "Late? For what I'm used to, the night's still young. I don't usually end up going to sleep until four in the morning."

He cocks an eyebrow. "What time is it that you sleep in till?"

Loki shrugs. "It depends what it is that I'm doing that day. Usually fourteen or fifteen-hundred hours before I would go onto the roof for a sunbathe and—"

Thor places a finger over Loki's lips. "Just the time, Loki. That life is over for you, now. From the moment that I took off your bonds it was over. Now you're with me, and no matter what SHIELD decides for you, I will be at your side."

Loki's heart feels like it explodes. He can't do this. This isn't the right life for him. He'll get everybody killed. So he kisses Thor's finger before reaching a hand up and weaving it into Thor's there before dropping it to his chest. "You told me you loved me," he whispers. "I want you to take it back."

Thor gives an intense frown. "Whatever for?"

"Because I'm not good for you. I'm—"

Thor silences him with a fervent kiss. "You _are_ perfect for me, Loki," he whispers against his lips. "Not just because you are Nordic, either. I understand you and what you went through."

Loki narrows his eyes slightly. "How can you understand something you've never been through yourself?"

"I do not believe one has to experience something to know what it is like. What you need is an open mind that is _willing_ to if such things are needed to help another."

Loki disagrees with him, but he does understand where he's coming from. So instead of arguing he simply sighs, looking over towards the unlit fireplace. Steve and Phil are gone to who knows where, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that Loki needs _peace_, and he's not going to get it alongside anyone—and especially not in the penthouse kitchen.

He looks back at Thor with a warm smile. "You're very nice for a man of your stature." He drops his hand from Thor's and takes two steps back towards the elevator. He's not going to take it, but it gets the point across. "But I can't stay."

Thor's face looks like it's going to fall off if that sad looks gets any heavier. "But Loki I—"

"I can't stay with _anybody_, Thor. Being in an actual relationship will ruin us both. I'll feel like I'm being forced to stay, and then where will we be? Nervous breakdowns and burnt bodies. You'll buy me things and I'll remember how Kleiser would always try to buy my happiness so I would not be so down while being forced to stay. You'll take me on a trip to someplace that's always sunny and I won't be able to tan in peace because I'll keep looking around for the Chitauri guards to get me something to drink. I _can't_ stay with anyone, Thor. I'm not the type of person to be bound to anyone. I'll go crazy! I gave up in there, okay? The real world is all I have left! I can't _afford_ to give up out here!"

Thor stares across at him with the saddest look that Loki has ever seen in his life. "But, Loki, I…" He swallows. "I would _never_ force you to do anything. You could stay out as late as you want and sleep in past noon and…" He looks down and swallows again. Is he trying to hold back tears? Gods, don't let him cry. Loki won't be able to leave if he cries… "This is not me forcing you to stay," he says, looking back up. "This is me asking—this is me _begging_." He takes the two steps that Loki took in one and literally drops to his knees in front of Loki, taking one of his hands and holding it in both hands.

Loki doesn't move. He just stares.

"You see," Thor continues, "there is something about you that I have never found in anyone else. Maybe it is the way you look at things, like nothing can be fixed and the world will forever be the same. The way you look passed people like they are not even there, or at the very most as though they are a sickness."

Now Loki is just confused. "You _like_ how negative I am?"

Thor laughs, standing up to look down at Loki with the inch extra height he has on him. "I love it! It is so refreshing from everyone always trying to prove there is still some good left in the world. The negatives are always prepared for the worst, and when the worst comes they are ready. A simple shrug of the shoulders and an 'I told you so' to the world around them." He takes a step back, still holding one of Loki's hands.

"I love you because you're already set with the way things are. Anything new will make your eyes sparkle; any trick will bring you to a crystal clear laugh I heard on the first night we had each other. I went to _be_ there, then. I want to be holding your hand and _showing_ you things. I can protect you, Loki. From the Kleiser or the family that made you leave, or even…" He pauses, licking his lips again, and steps forward until he's right in front of Loki, their lips a mere centimeter apart. "Even from myself, if you wish. If you want to leave, then leave. But know that I will always be waiting for you. If you use your magic abilities to come back to this very room to tell Anthony you have come _home_, I will welcome you.

"These places of ours are not prisons for you, but they are towers in the sky with security and hired help and _safety_. That is what a home is, Loki. Somewhere that you _want_ to be. If you do not want to be here…" He pulls Loki's hand up and leans back enough to kiss it. "It is as you wish, and I will not keep you from your dream of freedom." He lets Loki's hand down lightly before taking the same large steps back, as if he had never moved in the first place. "It is your decision what freedom is to you."

Loki stares wide-eyed at Thor. He…he _can't_ stay. This is not how he wanted this to go. He just wanted to _go_! Maybe if he just closes his eyes and combusts he won't have to deal with the look of sadness in Thor's eyes when he leav—

"_Do not be foolish,"_ a voice says into his head, and Loki's entire body freezes at the sound of Heimdall in his head. Is he still around? There's no way he's keeping tabs on Loki. He wouldn't do that; they don't even like each other.

He looks down at the floor, staring at the hand that had been held.

"_You will regret it, Prince of Frost, God of Fire. Do not be afraid. I will always watch over you in these times of internal conflict. He would die for you."_

Loki bursts into tears, dropping his head down to cry into his hands.

Thor is there instantly, holding Loki and soothing him. He hums gently under his breath—a song that Loki feels like he recognizes, but isn't sure.

_Why are you helping me?_ Loki thinks, knowing Heimdall will hear it. _We don't even like each other._

"_I did not like you because I did not like your thoughts of giving up. But now you are free, and I am helping you because you need it. You did not before, but with freedom comes an insecurity you forgot you had. I am here to make sure you do not throw your world away simply because you do not know how to deal with those feelings."_

_But where ARE you?_

"_Where I am every night. My home."_

_Where's your home?_

But Heimdall doesn't answer him, and Loki knows it's not because he doesn't want him to know where his home is, but because he wants Loki to continue and carry on his survival with Thor.

So Loki wraps his arms tightly around the blonde's neck and kisses him hard. Thor seems confused at first, but he wastes no time in kissing Loki back, his arms still soothing on his back.

"Don't ever let met leave," Loki chokes out, dropping his head so that his forehead rests against Thor's shoulders. "Promise me that you'll keep me."

"I promise," Thor whispers into his hair, arms tightening. It makes Loki panic for half of a second, but then it stops. Thor and Kleiser feel nothing alike, so it's easy to decipher between the two. "As long as you stay I will keep you."

Loki suddenly gets a terrible, wonderful ideas. Wonderful for Thor, terrible for Loki… But also wonderful for Loki because it will help him move on, terrible for Thor because he'll probably feel bad for it later.

"Thor," he whispers, leaning back in his arms so they can look at each other.

Thor gives him a quizzical smile. "Yes?"

"I want you…" He swallows. "I want you to pitch."

Thor cocks an eyebrow. "Is this a sexual term?"

Loki can't help but laugh. Suddenly it seems so much easier to say. "It means I want you to top."

Thor's eyebrows furrow. "You mean…you wish to submit to me?"

Loki nods.

Thor's eyes get very, very wide. "You are not serious."

"I am!"

"Loki, I could not! I would feel as though I was hurting you the entire time, or at the very least you did not enjoy it. I would hate for your first night of freedom to be in a direction opposite of joyful…"

Loki gives him a warm smile, reaching up to caress his cheek. "You could never hurt me, Thor. I know that. And this is my decision, isn't it? It's my own fault if I end up disliking it."

"Regardless of the faith you have in me or the knowing to take full responsibility for your actions, I would still be an accomplice and therefore still feel as though I had damaged—"

Loki leans up to silence him with a kiss. "Thor," he whispers against his lips. "Please."

Thor gives the tiniest of sighs before pulling him into a hug. "Alright," he says quietly. "Under one condition."

"What's that?"

"You tell me the moment, if it comes, that you change your mind."

"Deal."

Thor kisses the top of his head. "Come," he says, taking a hand and pulling him towards the elevator. "Tony has issued private bedrooms for Bruce, Phil, and I on the floors below for the nights we stay."

Thor instructs Jarvis to the highest of the guest bedroom floors, and then Thor leads Loki to the door farthest away. The blonde knocks four times on the door before twisting the handle once up and then pushing it down to open it.

"Wow," Loki says as it closes behind them. "I never knew a lock could be so simple yet so complex and secretive."

Thor smiles, flipping on a light. "I thought of it as a child."

Loki smiles back before looking around the room, taking in the red and silver color scheme. He knows those are the main colors for Thor's business, so Tony really did give them _specific_ rooms. There's not a huge amount of things inside, though. Just the basic room for a rich businessman: a king sized bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a TV, a closet with sliding mirror doors, a spacious bathroom, and a framed picture of a thunderstorm over the headboard of his bead. It's not the same shape as the bolt of his company logo, but a real storm happening in the past over this very building instead. There's also a ceiling-to-floor window facing over the city.

Loki smiles, remembering how, while Phil cooked, Thor was pointing out of the window in the penthouse, telling Loki what all the buildings were for and what history he knew of them, if any.

"You like the sights, then?" Loki asks, going over to it.

Thor's reflection comes up behind him, smiling brightly. "Sights and heights," he says just as bright. "It is the same with Anthony. One of the entire floors of the leisure areas has windows for its outer walls. I have spent a lot of time on that floor."

Loki spins around and grins at him. "Know what _else_ you'll spend a lot of time on?"

Thor chuckles, pushing Loki up against the glass. "I suppose if _you_ are going to embrace your submission then I should as well."

Loki laughs, dragging the tips of his fingers down Thor's arm. "A brilliant idea, I think."

Thor pulls Loki away from the window and instructs Jarvis to let down the curtains.

"I am sorry they are red," he says quietly.

Loki knows what he means. Red curtains are show curtains. "It's okay," he says, pulling away from Thor to spin back over to them. "It's not the show I'm afraid of." He strikes a provocative post. "It's what comes afterwards."

Thor smiles, walking backwards toward the bed. "Do not do a show then. What comes before is not frightening."

Loki grins warmly at him, going across the room to where he's now sitting on the edge of the bed. Loki instantly crawls forward to straddle his waist, pushing on his chest to push him onto his back.

"Don't say a word," he whispers. He bends his lips down to Thor's neck, palms braced against his chest as he teases the flesh with his tongue. The blonde moans quietly, reaching his hands up to grip onto Loki's t-shirt that he changed into back at the Skrull.

"Know what dominating means?" he whispers into Thor's ear after leaving a hicky on the man's neck.

"Mmm, what?"

"More work for you!" Loki flips over Thor with a laugh, twisting around to face him. "So get going."

Thor laughs as well, rolling over to crawl up to Loki.

Loki forces himself to keep his eyes wide so he doesn't mistake the shadow above him for Kleiser's. Thor seems to notice, too:

"Are you sure you are alright with this?" he asks.

Loki doesn't even answer him. He just rolls his eyes before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him down to a passionate kiss—and Loki feels warm underneath a body for the first time in his entire life. He snaps his fingers to combust their clothes away, dropping them haphazardly on the floor. They gasp at the open contact, and with Loki's hands now having nothing to hold they push against Thor's chest, causing him to roll over to his side.

"I want you to stretch me while I'm on my side," Loki says. "Where's the lube?"

Thor, closer to the edge, reaching over to the nightstand drawer and pulls out a bottle, smiling at Loki as he gives it a small shake. "Roll over, ba—"

Loki quick darts a hand over Thor's mouth. "No," he whispers. "Not that one. Not babe or sweetheart or cupcake or baby. Anything but those four."

Thor nods, kissing Loki's hand. "Honey and darling it is. On your side."

Loki obeys, and Thor arches up the knee resting on top before coating his fingers. "Thoroughly?" he asks, bending down to kiss Loki's hip.

"Just three," Loki replies. He's not afraid of a little sting or even or even Thor being inside of him (obviously)… The only thing he's afraid of is submitting. Sometimes Kleiser would hit him during sex, and other times he'd take him gently. No matter what way Thor does, it's _going_ to remind Loki of his previous prison. Loki just has to suck it up and push through it. He _has_ to get through it or he'll never get through anything else.

Thor stretching him isn't_ too_ bad, though Loki does have to bite his tongue ones during the second finger. He keeps it hidden from Thor relatively easily even though the blonde is watching his face for any signs of backing out. But Loki doesn't give any, and especially not during the stretching. Maybe they're not his _own_ fingers, but even so he's not afraid of it because Kleiser never _had_ to stretch him. The tongue-like penis would do that on its own.

When Thor pulls his hand away, Loki sits up. "Let me start out on top," he says. "Just at first, so I can ease into it."

Thor nods, grabbing the lube again to coat his own length before lying down on his back. "You're sure?" he asks again.

"I thought you were going to embrace it," Loki says with a good natured eye roll.

Thor gives a smile and a shrug. "I just want to be sure."

"Well you can be," he says, swinging a leg over Thor's waist to straddle him. "I want this. I need it."

Thor nods again. "As soon as you're ready, tell me. I'll roll over and put you beneath me. But _take your time_."

Loki just nods, lifting himself up so he can sink down onto Thor. There's nothing new about this part, so Loki does it easily, used to a large appendage pushed inside of him. So Loki swivels his hips a few times to make sure he's completely comfortable before accepting that he still has to go through the hard part:

"I'm ready," he chokes out above the heavily breathing blonde.

Thor looks like he's about to ask if Loki's sure, but he just clamps his mouth shut and nods instead, pushing himself up so that he's sitting. He wraps his arms tightly around Loki, one arm at his lower back and the other just below his shoulders. He rolls them onto their sides, keeping his cock inside, and then rolls ones before, leaning away from Loki as far as he can as soon as he does to give him space.

"Alright?" he asks.

"So far so good," Loki says with a nod. "_Move_."

Thor moves slowly at first, keeping his eyes trained on Loki's face for any signs of…whatever he's looking for. Backing out, pain…all of the above? Loki has none, though. Thor feels _nothing_ like Kleiser. That part he was ready for, he just didn't know it'd be to such an extent. He already knew he liked the feeling of Thor's cock inside of him, but this is…there's something different about this. Something different about letting someone take care of you in which you know you can leave as soon as you want to, or—

"_Don't you dare."_

Loki resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Shut up, Hiemdall_, he thinks in his snappiest tone.

Loki reaches his arms up and twines them around Thor's neck, pulling him down so that their chests are pressed against each other's. The Chitauri aren't warm in any sense of the word, but especially because they're cold-blooded and don't even need to let their blood warm up, so anytime that Loki was having sex he was cold. Thor, though…Thor is _hot_. Loki loves it.

Thor's arms wrap around Loki's upper back, holding him tight as he continues to pump into him. He moans into Loki's ear, hot breath washing out over Loki's neck, causing him to moan back.

"You feel so good, Lo'," Thor says huskily.

Loki bites his tongue, but it's okay. Kleiser would tell him that, he just wouldn't use his name. This is different. This is…Thor.

He moans again, higher pitched than before. "Oh gods, don't stop," he chokes out, arms wrapped around Thor's sides and scraping at his back.

This time, when Thor reaches down to Loki's cock, Loki lets him. He sucks hard on the skin of Thor's neck before biting at his shoulder, not sure how he's going to get his more sophisticated vocal cords to work to tell Thor that he's about to—

"Aahh, Loki!" Thor yells into his ear. He slams hard against Loki, hand stalling. It's okay, though, because Loki's coming as well, shooting out over his stomach as he moans incoherently. Maybe Thor's name is mixed in there somewhere, but he can't be sure.

When their breathing slows enough, Thor pulls out slowly before lying down beside Loki, an arm draped over his chest.

"You alright?" he asks, pulling the blanket over them with is other hand.

"Yeah," Loki breathes, looking over at him. "I'm…I'm great."

"Promise?"

Loki can't help but smile, rolling over to snuggle up against him. "I promise. Hold me."

Thor does, cuddling against him. "I love you," he whispers.

Loki pulls his head away to look up at him. "Thor?"

The blonde looks concerned. "What is it?"

Loki smiles. "I love you too."

And Loki's never seen somebody look so happy.

**OoOoOoO**

_CLINT  
22:46…_

Clint and Bruce all but run as Bruce leads them to the private guest bedroom that Tony has for Bruce, Clint's Brucey-kins punching in a five-digit key code before pushing the door open. The instant that they're inside they go at each other in a flurry, Bruce guiding Clint backwards. The back of his legs eventually comes in contact with what is obviously the bed, and Bruce pulls away after a particularly savage bite to Clint's lip.

"Clothes," he says. "Off."

Clint instantly complies, yanking his t-shirt over his head as Bruce all but yanks down on the buttons of his black button-up, and then comes off their pants and underwear.

Clint crawls backwards onto the bed until his head is resting on the pillows, and Bruce comes straight after him, settling over him before they launch into fervent kisses.

And all of the sudden…Bruce slows. His kiss turns slow and the movement of his hands on Clint's body turns to caresses and his breathing quiets. It's…nice. Odd, but nice. Clint's specialty in the Skrull didn't bring him anyone who wanted to "make love"; he got the ones who wanted it hard and fast and strong.

Clint only had "slow sex" once, and that was way back the only time he and Natasha did it because they were "sick of their usual clients". He honestly doesn't even remember the feelings associated with it.

"Mmm, babe," he whispers, hands dragging down Bruce's back. "I fucking love your lips."

Bruce breathes a laugh, bending down to suck lightly at the skin of Clint's neck for a couple of seconds before pulling away. "Thanks," he says quietly, reaching out of Clint's vision for a second before leaning back. There's a small bottle of lube in his hands now.

"Want me to beg?" he asks, a cocky half smile on his face.

Clint melts a little. "No," he says. "No, gods, just do it."

Bruce does, coating two of his fingers (just like last time) before reaching down to do his stretching. He leans down and kisses Clint on occasion, and the one hand not working at the sphincter muscles are working at others, rubbing at his arms, thighs, and calves.

"Back or knees?" he asks when he's finished, coating his own length with the lube as he waits for Clint's reply.

Clint blinks at him. Is he asking him what _he_ wants? Nobody's ever asked him that before… With clients it was his _job_ to do just whatever they wanted. With Natasha she couldn't really "top" anyway, he only did it with Steve because he was teaching him the best ways to dominate, and if he ever did it with Loki there was no chance in hell he would _ever_ be the dominant. Natasha didn't ask, she just went straight on her back; Steve didn't ask, he just dominate; Loki didn't ask, he made _all_ the rules—no exceptions. So being asked what _he_ wants is…not something he's used to.

"I don't care, you decide," he eventually says, giving a passive shrug.

Bruce gives him a warm smile. "I want you to decide."

Clint snorts. "Back," he says. "Take me on my back. Like last night."

Bruce complies, hitching up his hips and pushing in. Clint lets out a husky breath and wraps his legs around Bruce's waist, forcing him to lean forward and to push in further. Bruce continues to move slowly at first, touching everywhere he can reach on Clint's body. Clint's never done it like this before, so he does the same, following the example of his lover.

He barely keeps from laughing out loud. Never in his life did he think he'd be learning something new from a client. Well…previous client. Well…not even that, since he never actually paid. The first night he was just Clint's lover, and the second night he was going to be his lover _and_ client, they just…didn't get that far.

Eventually, of course (and not a long eventually, either), the lust and passion take over, and Clint and Bruce's love making turns into a bout of mindless sex, filled with incoherent moans and a few coherent ones of the other's name, and gods the way that Bruce's hand feels on Clint's cock is amazing and the way he's moving inside of him and—

He practically chokes on his gasp as Bruce hits his prostate, biting his bottom lip as he comes over Bruce's hand, continuing to pump back against Bruce until he loses it as well with a strangled word sounding familiarly like Clint's name.

Bruce lies on top of Clint a moment later, both of them still holding tightly to each other and Bruce still inside.

"_Gods_ I love you," Clint breathes, kissing anywhere his mouth can reach around Bruce's neck and shoulder.

Bruce's jaw tightens in a smile. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he asks quietly.

Clint smirks, pushing at Bruce so he rolls off of him and the two of them are facing each other on their sides. "Yeah," he says. "I've been told."

Bruce gives a good natured eye roll. "How did _I_ end up with the cocky one?" he asks the ceiling.

That's when Clint realizes that the ceiling is painted lavender, though. No lights on are on because he and Bruce didn't manage to get that far, but Clint's eyes allow him to see in the dark and therefore see everything with acute clarity. Actually, he hasn't looked around the room at _all_. It's decorated in lavender and an icy blue color, not really the colors Clint would picture around Bruce. He'd say a deeper purple and then green, considering.

The room is simple, with a king sized bed, a single window, a nightstand (probably where Bruce got the lube from), a small dresser, a small closet, and Clint uses his abilities to see through the closed door to see a bathroom.

"Uh…Jarvis?" he says, looking up at the blue censor strip around the room.

"Yes, Mr. Clint?"

"Just Clint, thanks. Are you able to turn the lights on?"

"Wait!" Bruce says. He quick buries his face against Clint shoulder. "Okay," he mumbles there.

"Of course, sir."

The lights flicker on, and Clint's eyes are already adjusted. He'll never have problems with his eyes. He can see underwear, through black smoke, and with anything else. His eyes are perfect. That's what happens when you're a Se Igennem.

"This is your private room, right?" he asks.

"Basically," Bruce says, pulling out his face away and blinking rapidly with all the light.

"I would have pictured more green."

Bruce sighs. "Yeah, well, if you haven't noticed, green to me is a sort of curse most of the time, so I don't really enjoy the color."

Clint rolls closer to him and kisses him hard, taking Bruce completely by surprise. "I know you've hurt people," he whispers, pulled away by little more than a centimeter. "You wouldn't be so afraid of it if you hadn't. But you've got me now, and with me came the neck rubbing thing, so now you can make that dose of whatever it is you make to pinpoint the three spots!" He smiles. "_Then_ the cure. Actually…" He pulls away a little further.

Bruce's lips are pursed. "What?"

"What are the other two species you're researching again?"

"Werewolves and Ghosts. They're the two species that are the closest in relation to mine."

Clint's eyebrows furrow. "I understand the Werewolf relation, but what about the _Ghosts_?"

"Not _every_body becomes a ghost, right? There's a specific reason for it. It's taken me far too many years, but I and a few others figured out that that reason is for a lot of the same that my Rage Monster comes out, except they actually remember everything."

Clint smiles. When he got Bruce to come out of his Hulk stage, Bruce didn't remember anything except Clint being hit by the Chitauri. Clint had to explain the whole thing to him, which is partly why it took them so long to get out. They also changed their clothes and Bruce practiced his blowjob skills.

"Okay," Clint says, eyebrows furrowed again. "Now _Werewolves_ don't make sense. Because they only changed under the full moon, right? So how are _they_ related?"

"Wrong, actually. That's what was taught up until three years ago."

"That explains it, then. I was in the Skrull for double that."

Bruce winces a little. "Well, let me explain the new studies to it. Werewolves do change under the full moon, but they also change under half-moons, new moons, solar eclipses, and lunar eclipses if they're under the right amount and kind of stress or are housing the right amount of uncontrollable anger. That's how they're related; because those are two of the main reasons my species brings out the 'other guy'."

"Oh!" Clint says. "I get it now. So you're studying them in hopes that, if you find a way to cure Werewolves, you can find a cure for your species too?"

Bruce nods. "I'm not studying Ghosts for a cure simply because their cure is as simple as fulfilling what it is they needed to do to red rid of that anger or that stress or whatever they had that caused them to turn into a Ghost in the first place."

Clint suddenly can't help but laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, ducking his head before looking back up with a straight face. "Something I saw on the internet popped into my head."

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. "Care to share?"

"It was just some girl wondering how couples can be so sexual and then so practical, you know? One seconds we've fucked each other to the stars and back and the next thing we're talking about filing tax reports and who gets to clean the litter box next—or in our case, which species you're doing tests on."

"With their full consent, I'll have you know," Bruce says, holding up a finger.

Clint laughs. "That's very good to know."

Bruce suddenly gets a very warm smile on his face. "Is that what we are? A couple?"

Clint gives a good natured eye roll. "Do you see any other soul mates around here?"

Bruce kisses him softly. "I just realized," he says, holding him tightly. "Now that you're out you can actually be there for your award!"

Clint frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The neck rubbing thing, remember? I pitched it and they're giving an anonymous award four days from… I have no idea what time it is."

"It is twenty-three thirty-seven hours, sir," Jarvis says politely.

"Oh, wow," Bruce says. "It's almost been an hour already? Thanks, Jay." Four days from tomorrow," he says to Clint. "I told them you weren't willing to come out in public since…well, anyway, I can talk to them after SHIELD tomorrow if you're alright with it." He smirks. "You're not _really_ afraid of scientists, are you?"

Clint smiles at him. "Obviously not. And I would _love_ to receive an award. How's that for one of my first acts of freedom?"

Bruce laughs, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. He looks like he's about to say something, but Clint suddenly realizes something else:

"You don't even know how old I am, do you?" he asks.

Bruce tilts his head slightly. "And you know how old _I_ am?"

"You're thirty-seven."

"Yes, well, um…where did you learn this?"

Clint rolls his eyes. "With my eyes and six years of a nonstop flow of people…well, it wasn't hard to tell. I know someone's age with a single look. It's not even just because of my species, I just got used to it. Being a Se Igennem does help, though."

Bruce purses his lips. "How old _are_ you?"

"Twenty-six. Eleven years is nothing to me. I was one of those 'age is just a number' teens who got with a bunch of older men and women after I ran away. Still am." He shrugs. "And I can tell by the yellow surrounding you that you're okay with it too! Hungry?"

Bruce smiles at him in such a way that Clint melts all the way down to his toes. "Yeah," he says. "Whatever's left over, we'll find it."

"Mr. Coulson has made both of you extra steaks, sirs," Jarvis supplies helpfully.

Clint and Bruce are both out of the bed in an instant, giggling when they see that they're both in such a hurry for the meal. They dress in the same flurry they undressed in, and Clint can't help but pull Bruce against him as they're waiting for the elevator.

"I want you to know," Bruce says to him as it dings and they go inside, "that I'll be at your side no matter what SHIELD throws at you. Fury wouldn't dare take away from me the only person my Rage Monster won't attack."

Clint smiles, remembering the look of surprise on Bruce's face when he was told that part of everything. "Or the only person that Jade Jaws will listen to and not attack anybody _else_." (That part was when Hulk-Bruce almost attacked Steve because he thought he was a threat to Clint, but Clint stopped him with plenty of time to spare and got him to carry him out to the main room instead.)

Bruce grins. "Precisely.

Clint smiles brightly. "Then I'll take it, whatever it is they throw at me. With you at my side, nothing's going to upset the Arrow Guy."

Bruce simply laughs.

**OoOoOoO**

_STEVE…  
23:39…_

Steve smiles warmly at Natasha as she and Tony run up the stairs, pleased that she's so happy with the way things are. Her first night out in the real world that she could possibly remember and she's having sex. It's not at all surprising for Clint, and Loki will probably make his way around to that sometime tonight as well, but Natasha? She hardly _ever_ has actual sex, so this is odd. Tony must be really good at what he does.

Steve frowns. _What he does._ That's not how it should be worded at all. _He_ was never in the stripper business (well, as far as Steve knows); he views the concept of sex a whole different way than any of Steve, Loki, or Clint do. Natasha, on the other hand, probably looks at it about the same way, considering that Steve was the last person she actually had it with other than Tony—and that was four years ago, at least.

Phil taps his shoulder, bringing him out of his stupor. "Done?" he asks.

Steve looks at his empty plate and glass. "Yeah. It was delicious." He laughs. "I haven't had a steak in years. Natasha and Loki got them all the time, but not Clint and I."

Phil smiles, stacking his and Steve's plates and glasses as he stands. "Glad I could help," He goes and puts the dishes into the sink. Steve stands by the time he's back, pushing in their chairs.

"Are Clint and Bruce's steaks in the fridge?" he asks.

Phil nods. "Just how I know Bruce likes his and how you said Clint used to take his, too."

Steve smiles, looking out at the large window. "I've never been this high up before," he says, motioning out towards the window. "Or if I have, there haven't been any windows."

Phil suddenly gets a large grin. "How many movies have you seen in the last four years, Steve?"

Steve cocks an eyebrow. "Two. Why?"

"They just came out with a remake of a movie originally from 1982, and I heard that you and Natasha are into the older things. Did you ever watch the Dark Crystal?"

Steve almost falls over. "There's a _remake_ now? No _way_!"

Phil grins. "Do you want to watch it?"

"Would I _ever_!" He grabs Phil's hand and pulls him into the still open elevator (before Steve was taken away they would always close while idle, but in the past couple of years they just stay open about it; there are no more annoying beeps if it stays open too long). "Jarvis, take us…" He frowns. "Where are you going?"

Phil smiles, talking to Jarvis without turning away from Steve: "We're watching a movie, Jay."

"Of course, sir." The elevator starts to move. "Would you like the cream or the tan couch?"

"Let's go with the cream."

Steve frowns. "Does it change colors?"

Phil takes his hand as the elevator comes to a stop. "No, there are two different theaters. We've all taken to identifying them by the color scheme of the couches in each one."

Steve nods, letting himself be lead around. "That's a good way to deal with it, I suppose."

The theater is very large for a single floor, multiple couches in the previously mentioned cream color. Phil instructs Jarvis to play the movie as he kicks off his shoes, undoes his tie, and goes to take off the top jacket of his suited outfit. Steve follows suit, unlacing his high-top Converse. That's really all he's got, considering he's just in a t-shirt and never had a sweatshirt with him. The only two he's got are in his suitcase, wherever that is.

"You can take off your jeans if you don't want to sit in them," Phil says, going over to a small closet in the wall and pulling out a couple of blankets. "Nobody's going to walk in, and even if they did they wouldn't care. I certainly don't care." He shrugs, dropping the blankets just at the floor of the couch. "Do you want the corner of the couch here, against the arm, or do you like the middle better?"

Steve smiles at him, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. "I'll take the corner."

Steve drops his jeans before taking to the corner, sitting up straight with his legs over the couch. Phil sits down beside him, snuggling up to his side. Steve drapes an arm over his shoulders as they fluff the blankets out over them, and that's about when the movie gets to its menu.

"Play?" Phil asks.

Steve nods vigorously. "Play," he repeats.

**XxX**

_STEVE  
00:26…_

"I have never experienced something more beautiful in my entire life," Steve says as soon as the credits start to roll. "Listen, listen, they even have the same ending credit music! This is brilliant!"

Phil laughs, lifting his head up from where it was resting against Steve's shoulder. "I've never seen the original."

Steve snorts, pushing him jokingly away. "I don't think I'll ever be able to talk to you again."

"That's okay," Phil says with a shrug, standing up and stretching. "I don't need anybody to talk to have a conversation with them."

Steve snaps forward, grabbing Phil around the waist and yanking him back. The agent doesn't let out a single sound; he simply manages to spin around in Steve's arms so that he's straddling him.

Steve laughs. "I should have known I'd be getting into something like this by dating an agent."

Phil has the decency to blush before letting out a chuckle. "Fury's going to kill us all."

Steve tilts his head slightly. "What for?"

"For falling in love with the only four people that specifically needed rescuing."

Steve smiles, wrapping his arms around Phil's waist. "I have an idea," he says, pulling them chest to chest. "How about we forget about everyone else for a while?"

Phil smiles. "Bedroom?"

Steve nods.

Steve puts his pants on, but they just hold all the rest of their clothes before going back into the elevator. Phil leads him to a room on the bottom of the bedroom floors, doing both a retinal and thumbprint scan to get the door to open. It's decorated in nothing but black and white, almost completely bare. There's a queen sized bed, a small closet, a small bathroom, and a tiny little dresser beside the bed that also serves as the nightstand.

"Before you mention it," Phil says, "you could probably safely assume that this is the smallest bedroom out of every single one in this building. I like small without many things. Less places to hide."

"Paranoid?" Steve asks as he begins to undress again.

"It's my job to be paranoid," Phil says, doing the same.

They both end up in underwear before crawling under the covers in the dark of the room, cuddling up beside each other, going straight into a passionate kiss.

"You seem tired," Steve says quietly once they've pulled away and are simply holding each other.

"I'm always tired," he says. "I'm just very good at keeping it hidden."

"Then you should sleep."

"I don't want to sleep."

"Just because you don't want to doesn't mean you shouldn't."

Phil breathes a laugh. "I'm going to have to deal with you making me go to bed on time for the rest of my life, aren't I?"

Steve smiles warmly down at him even though Phil probably can't see it in the dark. "I'd rather it be for the rest of _our_ lives."

Phil is silent, probably smiling as well. "Want me to set _our_ alarm?" He chuckles. "Well, Tony's alarm for _our_ convenience." He mutters unintelligibly to himself. "Never mind, I _should_ go to bed."

Steve laughs, pulling Phil into his arms and kissing his forehead. "Good, because I can't remember the last time I went to bed before two in the morning and I'm looking forward to a change."

"Good. What time do you want to wake up? We have to be to SHIELD by noon."

"I need to shower, so…ten, I suppose."

"Sounds good enough. I've got to warn you, though, I'll probably wake up _hours_ before that. I'm used to getting to work by seven or eight in the morning."

"That's insane. Quick sleep so you can get as much as you can."

Phil snuggles up against his chest. "You're really warm, you know that?"

Steve smiles down at him. "Yeah," he says, wrapping both arms possessively around him. "I did. Goodnight, Phil."

"Sleep well, babe," Phil whispers.

And then…he's asleep. Just like that.

_He really did mean that he's always tired_, Steve thinks, smiling far too largely.

That's when he realizes, Phil just _fell asleep in his arms_. A trained SHIELD agent who just boasted about it being his job to be paranoid crawled into Steve's arms and fell asleep, just like that. Steve knows then that he's not the only one who's fallen.

"Maybe in the morning," Steve whispers against the back of Phil's head, "you can wake me up with you and I can watch my first sunrise."

Phil doesn't answer him, but Steve expected that. So he leans over and kisses his ear before settling in for as much sleep as he can.

* * *

End part/branch authors notes: Right, so…there's the end of the fourth/last branch of part two! I would just like you to know that there will be NO MORE SEX SCENES. I am sooo done with them. Haha XD I'm running out of positions and ideas and blah yada blah.

Anyway! Onto part three, which will be the last part :) Then the epilogue, but I'm not counting that as a part in and of itself (Part IV: Epilogue. No thanks). It's in the next part that we find out why Fury thinks Natasha is familiar looking, too =]

Also, Natasha's lap dance? Defs stole pretty much whole thing from Death Proof. Awesome movie, with Kurt Russell as the bad guy XD And then she and Tony never end up finishing the movie so Tony doesn't know she stole the whole thing, woo!

PS this next branch is where we learn a _lot_ more about SerialKiller!Clint, so be prepared for that as well!

Anyhoo, done with those notes I supposed. Feedback is welcome, but nothing is welcome too! Hope you enjoyed :)


	8. Part III, Branch I

**Part III: Island Headquarters**

**Part III, Branch I: Reunion's of the Rescued**

_PHIL  
Time: 05:21…_

Phil wakes up exactly seven minutes before he knows the sun is scheduled to rise, and the schedules have _never_ been wrong. He and Steve have completely separated in the night while sleeping, Phil lying directly on his back with his hands over his chest like a mummified body and Steve curled up in the fetal position on the very edge of the bed.

"Steve," Phil says, pushing at his shoulder. "Steve, Steve, wake up!"

Steve mumbles unintelligibly and bats his hand away, but Phil just keeps at it until the blonde rolls over with his eyes yanked open. "Phil?" he mutters. "Phil, what time is it?"

Phil smiles. "It's time to watch the sunrise."

Steve blinks up at him and rubs at one of his eyes. "Y-you heard me last night?"

Phil frowns. "Heard what?"

Steve shakes his head. "Maybe your agent came out and it managed to bury itself in. After you fell asleep I said out loud my idea of getting up whenever you did to watch the sunrise."

Phil shrugs. "I don't know, but hurry up or we're going to miss it. We have three and a half minutes before its edge shows."

Steve moves slowly, though it's obviously as fast as he can after just waking up. He picks up the pace after he gets pants on, and Phil tells him that his suitcase is in the closet like Tony ordered it. Steve doesn't grab a shirt or shoes or anything, he just snatches up a blue and white sweatshirt with red coating the inside and as the stitching. Phil's really going to have to get him some new clothes… There's nothing wrong with the patriotic look, but maybe there is when it's your _only_ look.

Phil, already dressed but for his shoes and tie, takes his hand and pulls him out of the bedroom and to the elevator, instructing Jarvis to take them straight to the roof. There are some other taller buildings around them, but Phil fixes that by pressing in a sequence code on the roof that allows a stand to rise up _just_ high enough to see above them all.

"It's a good thing I'm not afraid of heights," Steve says, looking around.

Phil stomps on the ground as it rises and railings pop up. "He really needs to fix this thing."

"Oh my gods," Steve whispers.

Phil snaps his head up to see what Steve's talking about, smiling brightly when he sees that it's just the sun. It's beautiful, of course, but Phil gets to see it all the time thanks to work—or it's the other way around and he's stuck inside for weeks at a time. It always depends at SHIELD.

"I can't even remember the last time I saw a sunrise," he whispers. "Even before I was taken I never had enough time to get around to anything. Phil, this is…" He breathes out happily, wrapping an arm around Phil's waist and pulling him closer. "It's beautiful."

Phil smiles, resting his head against Steve's shoulder. "I'm glad you like it."

They go back down to the bedroom as soon as it has risen, Phil going to grab his tie and Steve flopping like a dead fish onto the bed.

"I can't deny it was amazing," he says into the pillow, "but I _never_ want to get up this early again."

Phil laughs. "I'll make sure not to wake you up for it again."

Steve sits up after a few more moments, watching Phil get his shoes on. "Did you know," he suddenly says, "that I was a movie extra in all eight of the Harry Potter remakes?"

Phil blinks at him with one shoe on, a very surprised look on his face. "Wow. Really? All eight remakes?"

He nods. "I'm not sure if they liked me or if I just got there in time. I've been in all four of the Hogwarts Houses, a Hogsmede shopper, a bystander for the Quidditch World Cup…" He smiles. "It was a lot of fun." His face gets a little sad. "It's where I met by best friend. I was a third year Hufflepuff."

Phil wishes he could use his agent skills and read Steve's mind to know why that's a sad thing. "Gonna cherish the look of surprise on his face when you go get him after all this?" he asks with a half-smile.

Steve gives a sad smile, looking down at his lap. "No, it's…not really in my plan to ever see him again."

Phil frowns, bending down to put his other shoe on. "Why not?"

The blonde rubs one of his eyes before looking up at him. "Because they killed him."

Phil blinks at him before pressing his lips into a tight line and looking down at the ground, his hands dropping to rest against his hips as he stands. "I'm sorry," he says quietly before looking back up. "If it's any consolation, I've lost people too. Not my best friends, but you get close to anyone you work with whether you like it or not."

Steve nods, swinging out of the bed. "Both of my parents died before I was fifteen."

Phil goes straight over to him, sitting down beside him. "What were their names?" he asks quietly.

"My father was named Jospeh, my mother was Sarah, and I called my best friend Bucky."

Phil does a little double-take before frowning. "I'm sorry, did you say _Bucky_?"

Steve frowns as well. "Yeah, it was just a nickname. I know it's sort of funny, but—"

"Steve, no, you don't understand. What is Bucky's full name?"

Steve frowns even further. "I don't…why do you need his full name?"

Phil shakes his head. "James Buchanan Barnes," he says. "That's why you call him Bucky. It's a nickname from his middle name."

Steve pales a little bit—actually, he pales a lot. "How do you know his name?" he asks. It comes out as a barely audible whisper.

Phil opens his mouth, closes it again, and sighs. "Steve, I don't know how to break this to you gently, but…" He swallows. "Bucky is still alive."

The blonde blinks a few times, opens his mouth to speak, and then proceeds to fall backwards in a faint.

Phil shakes his head, kneading his fingers against his temples. "Jarvis, open a line to Fury, please."

"Right away, sir."

A few moments later, Fury's voice sounds through the room: "You better be glad I like watching the sunset, agent," he growls, "or I would not tolerate being called at such an early hour."

Phil rolls his eyes. Fury hates the sunset, he just happens to get up at five-thirty every morning. "Sir, I've just made some new, ah, discovers about our friend Steven here."

Fury is silent for a moment. "His full name is Steven Rogers. Yes, so have I. Agent Barnes has been hounding me since last night."

"Well Ste—Rogers just fainted. He thought that Barnes was dead."

"And you're calling to let me know that he and you will be getting here early to see him?"

"That's what's expected when he wakes, sir."

"I'll tell Barnes to get ready for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"One more thing, agent."

"I'm all ears."

"I need you to get the female's last name and species," he says.

Phil frowns. "What for, sir?"

"They haven't found anything on her at the Skrull and she's nowhere in the databases, so I need to know."

"For purposes as to simply know who she is, sir? She's an employee like everybody else."

"You really don't see it, Coulson?"

"I don't follow you, sir."

"You will when you get here. For now, wake up Rogers and get him over here as soon as you can. Barnes is going to have an aneurism if he doesn't see him soon."

"Understood, sir."

**OoOoOoO**

_BUCKY  
05:49…_

James Barnes does not like his middle name, so when Steve started calling him "Bucky" he about up and _let_ Steve get beat up a few times. He couldn't let that happen, of course, so he saved him every time. Then Steve got _big_, and Bucky knew it'd be him getting saved instead of the other way around. So Bucky took Steve to get laid, because damn, that kid really fuckin' needed it. He never did manage to choose somebody the first time, so Bucky took him back a second time to pick somebody _for_ him.

He never should have pushed Steve like that. Maybe the blonde was big, but he still acted small. To himself he was still just as small, still ignored by those that were once bigger than him and still invisible to anyone he took a fancy to. But Steve wasn't being ignored anymore, and they figured that out very well. Bucky apparently wasn't ignored either, but his being taken was probably just because he was in association with Steve and they didn't want either of them escaping.

When Bucky couldn't take it anymore, they tried to kill him. He barely escaped, but only because the Chitauri got cocky. Their species are stronger than humans, but not if they know it. Bucky killed the three that had him where they had taken him out in the middle of nowhere, wherein he was instantly descended upon by SHIELD agents.

That was in Miami, Florida. The Skrull had two locations back then, but the one in Florida was named something else: the Leviathan. Bucky had SHIELD agents shut that one down, but Steve wasn't there anymore. Bucky never found enough information to find him ever again (the Skrull and the Leviathan were kept completely separate, probably for the very reason as to one of them being shut down; that way the other could stay open), so he just assumed he was dead. That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it? Assume that anyone you can't find is just dead? That's how you get over things. You can't hold on to a string of hope when there wasn' one to begin with.

But Steve isn't dead. He was taken to the other of the Chituari clubs so they could keep him—and who _knows_ how many other clubs they've got around. Now that they've found and shut down a second they're going to have a send a team around to find any other places controlled by the Chitauri to make sure they're an upstanding place—which _won't_ be found, because all of that species is low lying scum.

Bucky has been trying to get Fury to let him go see his friend since he heard about the Skrull being found. He never heard Steve's name until later, but he _knew_ he was there. It was the exact same situation as before, so where else could he be? Except Fury _wouldn't let him go to him_. Something about waiting until the briefing the next day (today, now) at noon.

So right now Bucky is waiting for Steve and Agent Coulson, because Fury told him that they'd be coming really soon. Maybe he's stuck waiting here, but at least he'll be able to see him at—

"Agent Barnes?"

Bucky snaps his head up to see Coulson in the doorway.

"Phil, oh my gods!" he says, leaping over to him. There's no time for formalities now. "Where is he? I have to see him _now_, you don't under—"

"Shut up, agent."

Bucky falls silent. "Where is he?" he asks quietly.

Coulson gives the tiniest of smirks before stepping backwards. "Right here," he says.

Bucky's jaw drops as the blonde comes into view, the biggest smile in the entire world on his face. Steve doesn't give Bucky a single second to react, he just goes in for a hug.

"It _is_ you!" he says into Bucky's ear.

"Steve!" Bucky all but sings. "Steve, my gods, it's you! I thought you were dead!"

"I thought _you_ were dead!"

They burst into laughter, pulling away from each other.

"How have you been?" Steve asks.

Bucky stutters a little bit. "I don't know! I'm happy now and I don't even remember what it's been like before this! How have…" He trails off, eyes going sad. "What happened in there?"

Steve suddenly looks very angry. "You never came for me," he says quietly.

Bucky frowns. "Came for you? Steve, I _couldn't_ come for you."

"Couldn't? How couldn't you! I was in the same building for four damn years because I—"

"Steve, you weren't in the same building."

The blonde falls silent. "I wasn't? What are you talking about, you and I both went to the Skrull and—"

Bucky instantly knows what happened. "You were taking those memory pills, weren't you?"

Coulson suddenly steps in. "You _weren't_," he says darkly.

Steve sighs, taking a step back from both of them. "It was the only way I could get through the day."

"Steve, those are terrible for you!"

Bucky and Coulson share a look after having spoke at the same time, and Coulson nods and takes a step back to let Bucky continue.

"Those things fuck you up, man," Bucky says to him. "Listen to me, okay? We were in Florida. Does the Leviathan mean anything to you?"

Steve rubs his forehead. "No, I… It doesn't."

Bucky sighs. "After they tried to kill me, SHIELD came along and shut a place called the Leviathan down in Miami, Florida. The Chitauri run multiple clubs and the like, but nobody knew they were all connected. I didn't even know the Skrull existed before about twelve hours ago, and even then I wouldn't have gone near it because I would have been afraid of being taken again. I thought you were dead since they shut the Leviathan down and found other bodies there already. They must have taken you from there and brought you to this one here in New York."

Steve frowns, letting out a breath. "I knew the pills were bad for me, I just… It was the only way, Bucky. It was affecting the way I worked and they would punish me if I wasn't up to par."

Bucky gives him another hug. "You're safe now, Steve. You can't ever take any of those pills again."

"I won't," Steve whispers, holding him tightly with one arm. Bucky can tell that the other hand is holding on to something else, but what? Coulson? That would be…odd.

He steps back. Now he _has_ to know. Steve was holding Coulson's hand, but he drops it. "What happens now?" he asks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bucky says, holding his hands up. "I knew you got laid, but now you've got a _boyfriend_? Why didn't you tell me?"

Steve gives an exasperated sigh. "I didn't have the _time_ to tell you! I would have, I just didn't get that far yet."

He grins, looking over at Coulson. "I don't even want to know how _you two_ are a possible match, but I'm happy for you. For now, we really do need to discuss what happens next…"

"That comes later, Barnes," Coulson says, arms crossed. "The briefing at noon will involve six others."

Bucky nods. "Then I guess in the meantime, Steve and I can…catch up a little more."

Steve smiles. "I'd like that."

**OoOoOoO**

_CLINT  
10:20…_

Clint and Bruce both sit up at the exact same time, an alarm buzzing through the room.

"My head hurts," Clint moans, dragging his hand down his face.

"You drank a lot of vodka at dinner last night," Bruce says, rubbing a hand on his arm. "I'll get you another hangover pill."

"Thanks," Clint mumbles.

He swallows the pill without water, sighing happily when it works instantly. Pills are so much more effective these days.

"The alarm was set for ten-twenty, right?"

"Yeah," Bruce says, stripping himself of his boxers. "I'm gonna shower, if you want to come."

Clint grins, leaping out of bed, already naked. "Of course."

Bruce gets a relatively speedy release from Clint before he shows off his _own_ blowjob skills under the spray of the water, glad of his eyes being able to see underwater. Most of the time you'd have to keep your eyes closed all the time, but with Clint's species he can make that sexy eye contact whenever he wants. Afterwards they actually get to washing themselves.

"Are we all going to take Tony's limo again?" he asks. He's currently sitting on the floor of the tub, soaping up Bruce's legs, and Bruce is kneading the lavender scented shampoo into his hair. The conditioner is the same scent.

"Probably," Bruce says. "If he gets up on time. He's never on time to anything."

"Natasha will make sure they are."

"Good. He could use someone like that."

"How's she going to get around in the sunlight?" Clint asks. "I mean, since she's a vampire."

"Vampires won't burst into flame by reflections, right?"

"Yeah."

"So we'll get into the limo in the garage, extra-tint the windows, keep the sunroofs shut, and then pull inside of SHIELD headquarters so she can get out. It's not too difficult."

Clint nods. "I suppose not."

They're completely ready by eleven-fifteen, so they take the elevator up to the penthouse. Thor and Loki are already sitting up there with plates of the usual classic breakfast food, even with glasses of orange juice.

Clint smirks at Loki. "How much alcohol is mixed in with that?"

Loki grins at him, swallowing his mouthful. "Half of it."

Clint and Bruce get their own plates, not caring enough to ask who made it. It's made obvious a second later when Natasha comes down the stairs in little clothing, covered in flour and a few splotches of grease.

"Morning!" she says brightly as Tony stumbles down the stairs after her, rubbing at his eyes. He's freshly showered and dressed, he just must have done the whole thing while still half asleep.

"What's with the outfit?" Clint asks.

"It's the only thing I've got that I don't care if it gets dirty," she says with a shrug. "Eggs any good?"

"Very good," Bruce and Thor say at once.

She smiles. "Good." She puts together a plate and sets it down at the table, pulling out a chair and shoving Tony into it. "_You_ get coffee," she says, setting a steaming mug in front of him.

He mutters something that sounds like "thank you" before downing the entire thing. He's still just sitting there for a few seconds, but then his head snaps up and his eyes are wide. "Holy _shit_!" he yells, leaping back from his chair. He runs to the sink, dunking his mouth underneath the faucet and spraying himself with cold water. "Fucking _hell_!" he says, pulling away as he shakes his head back and forth, spraying little water droplets around. "Nat, _shit_, what did you put in that?"

She smirks at him. "Hot sauce, boiled rum, cyan powder, and—"

Tony waves his hands to silence her, going back to the faucet. "I hate you," he gargles.

She kisses his cheek. "Go eat your eggs. I promise I didn't rig anything else."

"Bitch," he mutters, kissing her back.

"_You're_ the bitch," she says, pushing him away with a laugh. "I had to carry you into the shower!"

He shrugs, sitting down. "I usually get up at two or three in the afternoon. It's not my fault Fury's inhuman."

She rolls her eyes. "Never mind, just eat your food. I'm going to go get dressed."

She comes back a few minutes later, dressed in the most casual thing that Clint has _ever_ seen her wear: a light blue tank-top below a gold v-neck t-shirt, red sweats that Clint has never seen before, and a pair of Converse that she's always had.

"Whose are those?" Steve asks before Clint can.

"Boobs are real, but thanks for the interest," she says without looking over at him.

"The sweats, 'Tasha," Clint says, rolling his eyes.

She smirks at them both. "I knew what you meant. They're Tony's."

Tony looks up upon hearing his name, looking around until he notices Natasha. He laughs. "You really like that color scheme, don't you?"

She shrugs. "What can I say? It grew on me."

Thor decides to finally talk: "Where are Phillip and Steven?"

"They left early, sir," Jarvis says through the room.

Bruce frowns up at the sensors. "What? Why?"

"I cannot be completely sure, sir, but I believe it is something about Mr. Rogers' best friend, Mr. Barnes, still being alive."

Bruce, Tony, and Thor wrinkle their noses up in confusion, but Clint, Natasha, and Loki all snap at each other.

"Who did he say?" Clint whispers.

"Bucky," Loki whispers back.

Thor frowns. "Who is Bucky?"

"Steve's best friend," Natasha says to them. "We have to go to them, _now_."

Just like Bruce said, they end up in Tony's limo down in the garage, no sunlight streaming in whatsoever. He even dims the windows. Natasha, however, is still having an almost nervous breakdown, so Tony has to hold her the entire time and Clint has to tickler her back in the light caressing way that Steve always does to put them to sleep.

Its twelve-thirteen when they arrive, with Natasha buried all but underneath Tony and Clint when Happy rolls down his window to tell them about their appointment. There's honestly no possible way for the sun to directly hit here back there, but it doesn't stop her sunray paranoia and Clint doesn't blame her for it. They park inside, Natasha refusing to move until all of the doors are shut behind them.

Tony throws a red cloak over Natasha, a hood thrown over to nearly cover her eyes and its hemline to the floor. "Just in case," he says with a shrug, and Clint has never seen Natasha look so in love in his life.

Their group of six (Happy leaves, because who _knows_ how long they're going to be here) make their way into the main complex, where they're actually met by Phil.

"Is Steve with Bucky?" Natasha asks him instantly.

Phil presses his lips into a thin line. "Guess you heard about that already."

"Jarvis told us," Clint says.

Phil nods. "Yes, Steve is with Bucky. They're waiting for us, along with Fury, at the top. Come with me."

The elevator here actually has buttons, unlike Tony's just having Jarvis do everything. That's actually probably pretty dangerous, having an AI run an entire building (and who knows what else)… Oh well, not Clint's problem. He must have some serious as shit firewalls or something.

At the top, Natasha instantly goes over to Steve, where he's standing beside a man who is obviously Bucky. Before Clint and Loki have a chance to get over there too, Fury steps forward and calls all of them to attention.

"The eight of you…" He gives Bucky a tight look. "The nine of you are here because you can be. You four rescued from the Skrull, on the other hand, are here because you are the only four that were not allowed to _leave it_. The four of you that were goers of the Skrull to have found out this information in the first place…" He gives the same tight look to Phil. "Well, it's not my business what you do outside of work, and it saved lives anyway." He motions all of them to a room, where they go inside to see a large table. "Have a seat, all of you."

Once seated, Fury at the head (Tony at the far end with his feet kicked up on the table), the man continues: "In the middle of this table are tape recorders. I _would_ have needed the accounts of our four 'strippers'" –he puts up air quotes—"while at the Skrull of what happened before, how you got in, and what happened while in there. I don't need them anymore, though, because we have multiple Guardian's who had their go at Rogers over here." He looks at Loki. "Yours, though, we didn't need from him in the first place."

Loki gives a dark look. "Why not?"

"Because my men found the cameras in the room where you were telling Odinson."

Loki's face gets darker before looking away. "Good," he says. "I wouldn't have told it all again anyway."

Clint's not sure who else notices (probably everyone but Tony and Bruce, to be honest), but Thor holds his hand out at his side and Loki takes it, squeezing far too tightly for what Clint knows is comfortable in an "every day" situation.

"So!" Fury kicks his feet up on the desk as well. "We'll start with you, Mr. _Francis_."

Clint blinks steadily back at him before giving a half smile. "Are you going to arrest me, sir?"

Fury laughs. "No, though the idea crossed my mind." He swings his feet down and folds his hands on the table. "There've been a few countries who hooked up to get you for a _long_ time, Barton."

Steve and Natasha frown. "What?" Natasha asks. "What for?"

Clint looks over at them. _Now_ he feels bad, but not for what he did. He feels bad for never having told two of his three best friends the whole story. "I'm the Arrow Guy," he says.

Natasha blinks at him, obviously having no idea what he's talking about, but Steve's jaw drops a little bit. "Clint, those six were… That was _you_? Six murders and you _never told us_? Two of them were while you knew us!"

Natasha cocks an eyebrow. "Hold on. We were dating and you didn't tell me that you killed somebody?"

Tony and Bruce sit forward, Tony's feet slamming to the ground and Bruce sitting up from his slumped position. "You two dated?" they ask in unison.

"Not the point," Fury says, causing the room to fall silent. "The point is, our 'Arrow Guy' here didn't just _murder_ six people. There was a lot more to it than that. Things that were never released to the public."

Bruce and Loki were the only ones that Clint told, but now they're giving him wide looks. Because Clint didn't tell them those…other parts. He wanted that to die with his killings.

"Define 'a lot more'," Loki says to him.

Clint looks down before snapping his eyes over to Fury. "I'm not going to tell them."

"I will if you won't," Fury says, hands folded as he slowly swings his feet back onto the table. "If you don't want to be put down, Barton, I suggest you do it."

Clint glares at him. "Put down?" he scoffs. "Don't make it sound so humane."

"Shooting line. Lethal injection. The electric chair. It's your choice."

Clint gives up with a sigh. "I didn't just _kill_ people," he says quietly.

"What did you _do_, Clint?" Natasha growls, suddenly on the table in front of him in a squatting position so their heads are level.

He knows when he should be afraid of Natasha, and now is definitely one of those times. So he pushes his chair back so she's not so close to him. "Remember all that blood I brought you those two times?" he asks her. "The gallons I told you that I had one of my doctor clients bring?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "I do."

"Those were from the last two bodies I did, before the Other wouldn't let me leave anymore."

Half the room (Steve, Bruce, Tony, and Thor) look like they're going to be sick, the other half (Loki, Phil, Fury, and Bucky) are just staring at him like they deal with this stuff every day and they're used to it, and Natasha is just blinking at him before a sly smile creeps across her face.

"That's it? You took their blood?" She smirks. "Get any money for it?"

Clint smiles at her, scooting back in. "No, that's _not_ it."

She swings her legs out and sits down on the edge of the table, swinging her legs so that they keep kicking him. "Do tell."

Clint knows the easiest way he's going to get through letting Bruce hear this (he doesn't care about anybody else; sure, they might think he's a creep, but if Bruce can't stand him? He'll lose it) is if he doesn't look at him sitting on his left, so he and Natasha keep up steady eye contact while he speaks. He knows she knows that, too, so she's doing it to help him. Nothing frightens Natasha.

"I killed my dad and older brother," he says, "and then I set them up in strategic places in the house so they would fall out and scare my mom."

She grins. "Why didn't you kill her, too?"

"I wanted her to suffer through it."

"Did she know it was you?"

"I set up cameras so I could see her reaction, but I never saw her again in person. As far as I know she thinks I'm dead just like them, but they took my body."

"That's _exactly_ what she thought," Fury says darkly. "Still thinks."

Clint doesn't look away from Natasha as he answers him: "Yeah? She file a report?"

"Four of them in four different places. How was Budapest?"

"Dusty. Are you going to let me finish or can I stop now?"

"Tell them about your love of heights, first."

"Why is that important?"

"Because I want them to know the real you."

"I'm not the same person anymore."

"Oh? Is that why we found a bow, arrows, and a stash of Chitauri bodies below the room you took your clients to?"

Clint looks over at him now. "Those were self-defense. It was kill them or be beaten and/or raped. It wasn't on my agenda to be with one of those grimy motherfuckers." He looks over at Loki, sitting across from his seat and one to the right. "I was already trying to save my friend from it; I didn't need to have to save myself in the process."

Loki gives the tiniest of nods, so Clint goes back to looking at Natasha. "I don't kill because I _can_ anymore. I had some dark years and I got out of them. It's as simple as that."

Fury gives a _hmph_. "Tell them what you did with the other bodies."

Clint laughs. "Now those I _did_ get money for. The black market around here is one _hell_ of a place."

"The fourth body, Clint," Fury says darkly.

Clint can't help but look over at him. "I'm sorry, are you talking about the SHIELD agent I shot through the heart with you standing next to him? Because that shit was _priceless_."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Black market and the police? That's not _that_ bad."

"But do you feel regret for it?" Fury asks.

"No," Clint says with a snort. He looks back at Natasha, letting her gaze calm him down. Clint doesn't get mad very often, but when he does it's not a pretty sight. He's not a Rage Monster, no (he only got his mom's genes), but he can still get pretty ugly.

"See there?" Fury says, looking around the room. "A ruthless killer with no remorse and an insatiable hunger he claims is gone."

Clint opens his mouth to growl something at him, but Fury looks back at him and continues before he can:

"Which is why we want you recruited."

The room was already silent, but now it's almost impossible to breath through it. Clint and Natasha both look at each other with confused looks before both looking over at Fury, wherein Clint also notices that everybody else is looking at the man as well.

"I'm sorry, what?" Clint asks at the same time that a few others ask about the same thing.

"You heard me, _all of you_. I believe him that he's no longer a murder, but he's good at it anyway. He only got caught because of the last murder, and even then it was only after our very _best_ agents examined the scene and the arrow we found in the body. I hate saying it, Barton, but you've got what it takes and I want you."

"Sorry," Clint says. "I'm taken." He realizes what he's just said and sinks into his chair a little bit. "Well, possibly not anymore. I'll get back to you on that."

"You don't have a choice, Barton," Fury says. "If you don't join with us we can't just let you back into society after six murders. You become an agent or you get killed."

Clint blinks steadily at him before looking back at Natasha. "How's _that_ for a list of choices. Help me out, 'Tasha."

She rubs a few fingers over her chin. "I think I'd go with the lethal injection, but the electric chair is a close second."

"Good idea."

Suddenly a hand is gripping hard on his upper arm, and Clint snaps his head away from Natasha to Bruce. His eyes are green. "_Don't you fucking dare_," he growls.

Clint instantly reaches over with his other hand and rubs at his neck, not letting up until Bruce's eyes are brown again.

"Wait, wait, what was _that_?" Tony says, feet on the ground as he leans forward in his chair. "Did you just draw back the Hulk?"

Clint looks over at him with a dull look. "He didn't tell you? They're giving me an award and everything."

"Of course he didn't tell me, he—"

"He told _me_," Phil and Thor say in unison.

Tony throws his arms up and stands. "I want a cheeseburger." He looks at Natasha. "You want a cheeseburger?"

"I'd prefer a glass of blood."

"Right, awesome." He stalks towards the door, hands in his pockets. "A cheeseburger and a glass of blood. Anyone know where the nearest McDonald's is?"

"A block over," Bucky says. "Can I have an Oreo McFlurry?"

"Loki would like a four-piece Chicken McNugget!" Thor yells.

Tony blinks at them as they all start to rattle off orders. "I'm sorry I asked," he mutters, walking out before they're done.

Thor frowns. "Does this mean only Miss Natasha is going to get her blood?"

Loki looks up at him affectionately and pats his cheek. "It's McDonald's, Thor. They don't sell blood."

"Why are we arguing about the menu at McDonald's?!" Steve yells, standing up. "One of my best friend is a serial killer with mostly randomly chosen victims who drained the blood of two of the bodies, traumatized his mother with two others, and sold the _other_ two on the black market? We shouldn't be recruiting him, we should be getting him psychiatric help!"

Clint levels him with a glare. "Thanks," he says. It doesn't matter that he deserves it…Steve is still one of his best friends. "And newsflash, I was still able to sell the bodies without blood in them, so that's _four_."

Phil covers Steve's mouth with his hand. "And where _is_ all this money, Clint?"

"My safety deposit box," he replies. "I didn't want anybody to be able to trace the thousands of dollars that were being transferred into my actual bank account."

Steve is suddenly laughing, sitting back in his chair. "Too bad," he says a little franticly. "You would have gotten a shit ton of interest."

Clint, Loki, and Natasha all share looks. "You might want to take _him_ in for psychiatric help," Natasha says to Phil. "Steve only swears when he's having a breakdown."

Phil pats his shoulder. "Come on, babe, let's go get a drink."

Steve nods, standing up. "Yeah, yeah, a drink, okay. You know I've never been drunk before?"

Phil humors him as they walk out, Bucky following them, but Clint knows the story a hundred times over. Steve's drank himself to legit alcohol poisoning before, but he just can't get drunk because of what his doctor did to him. Clint's seen pictures of him before the enhancement. He was adorable.

"Anyway," Fury says as dark as his skin, "we're going to need all of that money, Barton."

Clint frowns. "Why?"

"Because it was gotten from the illegal selling of murdered body parts."

Clint smirks. "If you can find what bank it's in, which number it is, get the code to open it, _and_ get the password that only works in _my_ voice so it doesn't blow up when it opens up…" He laughs. "Well, if you can do all that, it's all yours."

"Don't test me, Barton. I don't _need_ you, I'd be happy to put you—"

"No," Bruce says. "No, you can't. _I_ need him."

Fury turns his dark look to Bruce. "You have no say in this, Banner. Just because he figured out how to keep your kind calm and you don't smash him when you're in Hulk form doesn't mean I won't kill him."

Clint reaches over and rubs at Bruce's neck, careful not to put him to sleep. "It's okay," he says. "I'll give it to you. Just…" He sighs. "I'll cooperate, just don't kill me. I can't leave him."

Fury cracks the tiniest of smiles. Nothing genuine, but a mocking sort of one. "Looks like I've found your weakness, Barton." He turns to Natasha, still sitting on the table. "It's your turn, Miss Romanova."

Natasha frowns. "Excuse me?"

Tony bursts back into the room precisely then, a plastic bottle of blood in his hands. "I didn't make it to McDonald's, but someone _did_ point me to the blood bank they've got here for agents. When I said it was for Romanoff they sure got it for me in a hurry, which was weird, but…" He shrugs. "I got it!" He tosses it to Natasha, who downs half of it in one chug.

"There's a reason for that, Stark," Fury says. He looks back at Natasha. "Natalia Alianovna Romanova, I need you to come with me."

Natasha freezes in the middle of twisting the lid of her bottle back on. "_What_ did you just call me?"

He walks out of the room, Natasha leaping up to go after him, cussing under her breath. Clint goes right after her, Bruce, Loki, Tony, and Thor coming out after them. They go through a few hallways before coming to a very big, very open room, with a high ceiling and absolutely no windows. There's a _lot_ of really weird equipment in here, but Clint can tell that most of it is…torturing devices.

"Wow," Natasha says, going to one of the tables. "This looks just like the table I use, with the razors straps and everything!"

"This is interrogation room number seven," Fury says, hands behind his back. "Torture."

Natasha turns to him and glares. "If you think you're going to torture any of us, you've got one coming."

"It's not for you, Romanova."

"Stop _calling_ me that!"

She looks like she's about to say more, but suddenly a man and woman come out from behind some equipment, the man wiping blood off his hands and the woman twisting up a whip.

"Afternoon, boss," the man says. "Got some more for us?"

The woman smirks. "Never thought we'd get Stark in here."

Clint frowns, looking at her, then at Natasha, and then back and forth between them a few times. They look so much like each other it's actually sort of weird.

"Not today, Aliovna."

Natasha and Clint freeze. That's…that's so close to Natasha's middle name it's frightening…

"I've got something else for you two today," Fury continues. "Maybe we'll strap _you_ to the tables."

The man and woman frown. "I beg your pardon?" the man asks, his fangs clearing showing. He's a vampire.

That's when Clint figures it out. If the man is a vampire, and the woman… She's got tattoos all around her neck of spiderwebs, and there are red X's on her wrist. She's part-spider. Fucking hell.

"Drakov and Aliovna Romanova, I'd like you to meet one of those that we rescued from the Skrull. Your daughter."

The eyes of the Romanova's widen, staring at Natasha

Natasha stares back before looking up at Fury. "These are…?"

Fury nods.

She lets out a feral growl, snapping her fangs at them. "You two are my _parents_?" She shoots out her webs and brings back to her grip a razor whip and a fucking butcher's knife or something. "You fucking _sold me_ into being a _porn star_? Your own fucking daughter?" She cracks the whip, snapping over to her a smaller knife. "You motherfucking—" She cuts off from English and begins spewing words out in Russian.

Clint can't speak a lick of Russian, but obviously her parents can, because they're actually starting to look frightened. They were already impressed at first about the way she could handle the weapons, but now that they're being directed at them they realize that they're going to have to fight her back.

That's when Natasha leaps at him, chucking both the butcher and smaller knife so that the butcher goes towards her father and the smaller to her mom. They easily step out of the way, what with being SHIELD agents and all, but her mom doesn't quick get out of the way of the whip, ripping at the skin of her arm a bit.

Clint has seen Natasha angry before, but this? This is something he's never seen in his life. And it just…keeps going. Clint has heard over the years that rage can fuel you, but to try to control your anger is the best thing you don't so you don't trip up because you're being _blinded_ by the anger. With Natasha this is nowhere accurate, because she is fighting two trained agents at the same time and is _still_ kicking ass. Fury is yelling into his com for backup, and Clint seriously thinks that Aliovna is going to get a knife to the throat in a few seconds.

Backup shows up, though, and manages to subdue all three of them. Getting Drakov and Aliovna to the floor is a given, seeing that they're child traffickers, but because Natasha wants to just kill them so badly they have to slam her to the floor as well. Tony is yelling at them to get off of her, but Fury just yanks him back with on fist and holds him there without so much of an effort.

"Natasha, calm down, _please_," Tony pleads, standing there because he knows he's not getting away from Fury anytime soon.

She snarls something in Russian at him, and he slumps and little and backs up against Fury. Clint is confused at first, but then he remembers Natasha telling him, Steve, and Loki that Tony is a Jezik. Fury shoves him over to Clint, Bruce, Loki, and Thor to hold him, but Clint just steps out of the way so he can go over to Natasha, dropping down beside her.

"If you calm down I'll tell Steve you were good so he can make a margarita-blood mix," he says.

She pouts out her bottom lip. "They _sold_ me, Clint!" she says.

"Yeah, so? Loki spent his last years being raped by a tongue and Steve's had to spend the last four years thinking that his best friend was dead. So what for them, too. You're free now and they'll probably let you torture them if you just calm the fuck down. We're letting Loki kill Kleiser, Steve gets his best friend back, and I don't care enough to kill anyone I have a connection to. _Breathe_, or these agents are _not_ let you up."

She sighs, looking over at Fury. "Fine."

Fury motions for the agents to get off of her, and Clint can tell that Natasha is forcibly restringing herself from going to her parents as they're being cuffed, her dad is being gagged, and her mom is getting her wrists blocked off. She looks up at Tony, whispering something in Russian again.

He nods and holds his arms out, letting her fall against him and hold him probably a little tighter than comfortable.

"Now what?" Loki asks, hands balled into fists as he stares down at Natasha's parents.

"Now we make our way to the prison cells," Fury says, motioning towards the doors. "Separately. It seems that all three of you have a bone to pick with our two information extracting experts."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Clint says to Natasha, "I just can't _not_ find it funny that they're the torture experts here and you got the masochists."

"That is rather fascinating," Aliovna says with a sly smile. "It must be in your genes."

Natasha whips her head around to glare at her, hair smacking both Tony and Thor in the face, who simply look at each other and give silent giggles at it. "If you're not dead by the time I have a child and sell _them_ off, I'll let you know what's in my _genes_."

"That's enough, Romanoff," Fury says, no longer motioning to the door but downright shoving. "You'll see them soon enough, and if all works out, Barton is right in the fact that you'll be allowed to do with them what you wish. Now _go_."

**OoOoOoO**

_FURY  
12:52…_

Fury sends the agents with Drakov and Aliovna off to take the elevators, but he takes all of Romanoff, Stark, Barton, Banner, Laufeyson, and Odinson the long way to allow for some cooling down. He has no idea where Coulson and Barnes are with Rogers, but worrying about that will come later.

There are six floors of the main Triskelion building, with another in the middle of the main that goes up to fifteen. They've just made it to the second of the main (the prison cells are underground), walking down a hallway, just about to pass the second shooting range (they call it the second because the first is simple guns, but this one has guns, immobile and moving targets, and a whole slew of devices in which they can climb through to practice agility, strength, and other things required), when Barton launches backwards from where he and Banner are walking just behind Fury. He slams his hands over Romanoff's eyes, a huge smile on his face, and bringing everybody to a halt in the process.

"'Tasha, gods, I bet I know what will cheer you up!"

Fury cocks an eyebrow, and Romanoff wrinkles her nose up. "One of Steve's margarita-blood mixes?"

"Yes, but no. You like shooting, right?"

"I've never shot anything."

"You shoot your webbing all the time."

"You should have been more specific."

"Okay, well, you like shooting webs, right?"

"Right."

"And you like swinging around on things, right?"

"Obviously."

"And you remember those things I told you about? The trampolines?"

She gasps, pushing his hands away. "No _way_!"

"_Fuck_ way," Barton says, shoving her over to the clear Plexiglas window that he saw into in the first place.

She squeals like a little girl, which is not at all something that Fury was ready for. She instantly goes to the door handle, groaning when she finds it's locked.

"Pleeeease?" Barton says, looking over at Fury.

He glares his one eye at them, about to say no, when Laufeyson looks in as well and says very softly, "I vote yes."

He grumbles, about to pull out his SHIELD access card to swipe instead of pushing in the key code, but Romanoff bends down and messes about it with for all of six seconds before standing up and shoving the handle down, the door swinging open so that she, Barton, and Laufeyson can run inside, Odinson and Banner right behind them. Thankfully they've made guns a hell of a lot quieter than when Fury first joined up with SHIELD, so nobody is going to lose their hearing without wearing earplugs.

Fury blinks through the window as the other agents in the room give them all confused looks, but they do nothing about it since they also see Fury.

"She hacked into Jarvis, too," Stark says beside him.

Fury prides himself at being able to keep himself composed, but he has never in his life dropped his jaw before. "She didn't," he says, sounding dangerously like a teenage girl.

Stark chuckles, beginning to follow. "Believe it, Nicky."

Fury goes in after them, kicking the door shut behind him. Laufeyson is inspecting a model of Coulson's favorite blowtorch, Barton has already gotten a hold of their best bow and arrow models to shoot at the moving targets, and Romanoff is spinning around the Jungle Gym (as the agents call it) with her webs in such an acute accuracy that Fury can actually admit that he's impressed. He's seen Aliovna and others that are part-spider do things as such, but never as good as this. When was she ever even able to practice this? She's been in a strip club for the last twenty-two years, according to what Coulson told him when he came in so early.

He watches the three ex-strippers closely, confirming that, yes, Barton still has one of the best aims that he has ever seen. Banner is watching as well, jaw dropped in awe. Fury will never understand what the man sees in him, but he probably doesn't want to. Barton eventually drops the bow and arrows to shoot alongside the other agents (those not watching Romanoff, in any case) with multiple different guns, nearly getting Coulson's high score on the board. Loki is still just looking things over, Odinson close behind him and Stark walking with them to explain what things do. He made over half of the weapons in here, after all. It's not surprising that Odinson happened to fall in love with the one who needs the most love and protection; he's so bright all the time that he'll smother the guy enough to make him happy for the rest of his life. And Romanoff is…well, pretty damn fine. Stark _would_ fall in love with someone that attractive. She's also excellent up on that Jungle Gym, though, and for never having used a gun she's pretty motherfucking good at it. She misses for a while, but Barton says something to her that Fury can't hear and suddenly she's hitting all of them straight through the middle or damn close enough.

Fury sighs, looking up at the ceiling. Laufeyson wouldn't last a day in SHIELD, being told what to do after what he's been through, but Romanoff… Fury hates to say it, but he's seriously contemplating calling Stark over to discuss recruiting her as well. Not enough to actually do so, though. It's bad enough hiring an ex-serial killing stripper, but _two_ ex-strippers? That's pushing it.

The com at his side buzzes, and he clips it off of his hip and pulls it to his ear. "Fury."

"Nick, Nick, hot _damn_!" Barnes' voice comes in. "Coulson 'n I took Steve to the first shooting range, right, because he was feeling weird and who can't let off a little steam while shooting a gun? Anyway, anyway, he can shoot like a _god_! Nic—oh, gods, sorry, that's not professional. Fury, you _have_ to come see this. Like, you thought Coulson was swooning _before_? I swear he's about to come in his—oh, don't give me that look, you totally are. Also, I have never had a better margarita in my entire life. Please, please, _please_ give him a chance. Set up their shots at the same time. I bet if you put them on the same team they'd kick _ass_."

Fury blinks, debating whether or not to hang up.

"Fury, come on, man, you can't do that blinking-glaring thing when I can't even see you."

Fury suppresses a sigh. "I'll think about it," he says.

He hears a faint "yippee!" before he hangs up, hooking the com back on his hip. He glares at Barton and Romanoff as they do almost as good as any of the others in the room. He is _not_ seriously contemplating this…

* * *

End branch authors notes: okay so listen I'm shoving the epilogue into this part even though it's the epilogue and should be by itself just go with it!

Anyway, uh…it's kind of over? Whatever, the epilogue is next and in Phil's perspective! Everything gets all explained I swear.

Also, the Leviathan's were in the Avengers, those really big whale whatever things that Tony was all "I'm bringing the party to you" and stuff. They're not actually part of the Chitauri, they're just kept by them and shit. Thank goodness I have the internet to help me with this stuff :P

Aaand that's the end of that. Enjoy the last of it :)


	9. Part III, Branch II: Epilogue

**Part III, Branch II: Epilogue: Happy**

_PHIL  
16 Days Later  
11:28…_

Phil sits in his big, soft chair in his office exactly three hours and twenty-eight minutes later than he would usually. He'd be annoyed except for the fact that he was out shopping with Bruce and Tony for their "new little workers", as Tony calls them, or Fury's "motherfuckers on the edge". Steve, Clint, and Natasha have all been recruited with uniforms and everything, passing their exams with flying colors after a week of training. That was crazy enough in itself, Fury letting them in, but when the three ex-strippers decided to _keep_ their old names…

Well, nobody has to know that the sexy blonde known as Captain America used to wait on tables. Nobody has to know that the loud, obnoxious "super assassin" known as Hawkeye was the Arrow Guy or that he's a masochist in the bedroom. Nobody has to know that the creature in the full body suit when in sunlight known as the Black Widow wields whips and lives to—well, so they will know that, because she refuses to give it up. Maybe it didn't get her off, but she's good at it and she knows it. Steve really is beautiful with a gun, and the way he rests the bigger ones against his shoulder and puts his other hand on his hip when anyone is talking to him makes Phil's fingers want to twitch.

Phil, Bruce, and Tony couldn't resists the chance of a "welcome to the job you'll probably be stuck with for the rest of your life because you know too much" gift, so they got whatever they knew would their up their partners. Being that the three of them are now all in society again (Natasha having barely touched it in the first place), Phil and his two friends went straight to getting them cell phones. The SHIELD issued ones just really don't cut it for trying to get a hold of people out_side_ of SHIELD.

Such as Thor and Loki, who Phil actually hasn't heard very much of lately. Thor has been on a "much needed" vacation with Loki, off at who knows where. They _are_ going to show up for Clint's award for his "Rage Monster Breakthrough", as the headlines put it (the ceremony had to be pushed back a week; Clint would have received it _days_ ago if not for complications). Phil has also heard that Loki likes to sneak off in the middle of the night, when he can't sleep, causing Thor to wake up in a panic because his bed is empty. The blonde thought that his love had left or been taken the first time, but Loki came back and explained that he just has to go out every once in a while. Thor wanted to protest at the fact that he shouldn't be alone and in harms way for that long, but he just nodded and kissed his forehead. Loki's done it three other times in the last two weeks and two days. That's the reason that Thor didn't go shopping with Phil and their other two friends, though. He's already taken Loki on multiple shopping trips.

Phil's house is actually in the Atlantis Region, being that he's in a neighborhood of houses that floats above water. It's not a huge house, but there's plenty of room for Steve to stay over with him. While Phil usually makes it to work at about eight, getting up around seven, Steve is meant to be there an hour later. Sometimes he gets up with Phil, other times he sleeps in for another hour. Phil smiles every time, remembering Steve's words about how he never wanted to get up "this early" ever again. Now he just goes to bed earlier. Sometimes he waits up for Phil to return on his really late nights, but usually he just sleeps. Sometimes he wakes up when Phil crawls into bed and pulls him down to stay awake just a smidge longer, but they usually reserve that for the two hour lunch breaks they get at the same time, seeing that Phil is almost always at work for ten hours at minimum, and Steve is there for that much at most. Phil gets a long break from all his paperwork and occasional training because even Fury knows that it's hard for somebody to sit still for twelve (sometimes) straight hours, and Steve gets it because most of his days are spent learning more of the SHIELD ropes, training, and working out, so he's simply dead exhausted.

Bruce lives in literally the very last house in the Suburb Region, because that he's as far away from the city and around the least amount of people in possible so that he can hurt less people if he ends up Hulking out. Phil's not completely sure about their own at-home setup, but he does know that Clint chose two separate one hour breaks than the two hours right next to each other (there are other shorter break times, of course, but nobody talks about those as much). He probably goes to visit Bruce at his lab during those times, perfectly welcome to whatever other scientists are there since he got them one step closer to a Rage Monster cure. Clint has the same hours as Steve, though they both have different…specialties. None of them can get around it, they still act somewhat like they did at the Skrull: individual names and different levels of skill at specific things. Natasha did get to kill her own parents, which was…certainly something to behold. Yes, they deserved it, but it's an odd thing to see ones daughter suck out the life of her vampire father and suffocate her mother in webbing.

Tony lives in, of course, Stark Tower (in the City Region), which Steve affectionately refers to as the "big ugly building in New York". Only Phil and Clint know that he's sketched it before. He doesn't even want to know what their only straight couple does in their at-home time, but Natasha has the same hours as Clint and Steve and Tony never has anything to do and is therefore at SHIELD a lot. He's already joined up with it for weapons and the like, and now even more of his friends are around. It was almost terrifying to have them all introduced to Pepper, in all her surrogate mother/secretary glory.

But now everyone knows each other. Now everyone is happy—even Loki (who's getting over abuse and running away for a few hours on occasion) told them that he's never been happier. And what's life without a little happy in it?

Phil chuckles at it, picking up his phone as it rings. "Coulson," he says.

"Phil, it's me."

Phil frowns, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Loki?" he asks.

"Yeah, that me."

"Yeah, hi. What's up? You sound…tense."

"I—yeah, I am. I mean, I'm fine, but I—it's going to be great, but…"

"Deep breath, Loki."

Loki takes one. "I'm not sure how Thor is going to react, Phil. We—we've never talked about it before."

"You called _me_ for advice on him?"

"You know everything."

Phil can't help but smirk. "You're right. You've called the right man. What is it, Loki? I won't tell anyone else."

Loki takes another deep breath. "I… I'm pregnant, Phil."

Phil's smirk turns into a bright, warm smile, because he knows for a fact that Thor has loved the idea of having children his entire life.

And the happiness continues.

_**-fin-**_

* * *

Ending authors notes: hot damn that was short. Almost as short as the epilogue for the Hologram! For the…few of you reading this that have read it. Haha. Anyway: I'M DONE THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG GOOD LORD. Uh…yeah, I'm done. I really hope you liked it! The ending took a completely different turn than what I was _going_ to have it, but…eh, I left plenty of room for a sequel. Loki is pregnant and the Other is still on the run! So…if anyone feels that I could totally come up with a sequel and think I should defs right it, tell me :)

And…yeah. Wow now I feel like I'm giving a school project. I love you all I hope you liked it! Leave reviews if you wish! Bye! *hearts all around*


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